With This Ring
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: This was just about the dumbest idea she had ever heard. Marry a guy she barely knew? But sometimes desperate people do crazy things. And crazy things can sometimes be the best things you ever do...
1. Vows

The tag of the dress scratched her back as she sat in the cab; she wished she'd cut the damn thing off. She twisted her body, trying to rub her back against the cab's leather seats but there wasn't enough room so she gave up and settled her face in a grimace instead.

She was late. Kinda apt, given tradition, she thought as she watched the seconds tick by and the traffic stood at gridlock.

Beside her, Belle chattered away about nothing, clearly nervous too. Unsurprising, as they were about to do something that was both highly illegal and morally dubious. But Emma tuned her out, ignored the honking horns and crackling radio; instead staring out of the window and up, up, up until she found the patch of blue sky that peeked out from behind the skyscrapers…

/

 _Six weeks earlier_

The blue awning above the table fluttered in the breeze as the waitress brought out their coffees. Bernie's Cafe was as busy as it ever got on a midweek morning, just a few students typing away at laptops and a sprinkling of hipster types in drainpipe jeans and battered hats.

"So," Belle asked over the rim of her cup, "How did the meeting go?"

Sighing, Emma stirred a packet of sweetener into her drink and suppressed a scowl. "Same old message: I'm too high a risk."

"What?" her friend cried, shaking her head, "After all the work we did on the business plan? All the changes they asked us to make?"

Emma shrugged. "Without a guarantor, it's damn near impossible to get a loan. Crappy economy."

Belle reached across the table and placed her hand over Emma's. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Emma breezed, shaking her head, "We've known this was a long shot, ever since you found me pouring over those business studies books in the library last year. I guess it's just going to take a lot longer than I hoped to get things up and running. Can't start a bail bonds business with no bonds to loan."

Really though, it wasn't fine. Far from it. She'd been working as a bail bonds person for almost ten years now. She had a great reputation, tons of potential clients- but no means of setting up on her own. Not that working for someone else was the worst thing (at least she had a job) but she'd always wanted something to call her own. And this business could be that.

 _Could have_ _been_ that.

"Maybe the bank isn't your only option," Belle began, nervously pulling back her hand from Emma's and toying with her teacup. "Do you remember Killian Jones? From my birthday party?"

To be honest, that night was well, a little bit of a blur. Emma had made great friends with a bottle of tequila and, the next morning, with the porcelain throne.

"Tall? Brooding…"

"That's the one," Belle smiled, her eyes crinkling. "Well, you know he works in the English department with Will? Well, next year Professor Gold is retiring and Killian is a shoo-in for tenure when that happens."

"And?" Emma asked, confused, wondering where the hell Belle was going with this.

Belle looked nervously from side to side, as if she was checking to see if anyone was listening. "Well, the problem is his visa is up in six months, and the university is having trouble renewing it, something to do with quotas and whatnot."

"Okay…" Emma nodded, still perplexed.

"And, anyway, the easiest, and quickest, way for him to get a visa would be to get married to a US citizen. At least until his tenure was certified."

Emma held up her hands, scrunching up her nose, "Wait - how is this going to help me?"

There was a pregnant pause. Emma wasn't sure if Belle was just being dramatic or if she was thinking, but a sharp kick under the table from Emma's boot soon brought her to her senses.

"You could do it. Marry him, I mean."

Blinking, Emma took a second to make sure she had heard her friend correctly. _Marry him? Marry a stranger?_

"Wait, wait, wait," she began, shaking her head, "Are you serious? Is this some kind of joke, because I-"

"Very serious," she promised, widening her big blue eyes as if to emphasize her point. "This could be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Emma laughed, a loud, broad chuckle that raised the eyebrows of the heavily bearded Village-type guy at the table next to them. "You're insane. He's insane! For all I know he could be crazy? I mean what kind of guy comes up with an idea like that. Geez…"

Rolling her eyes Emma took a sip of her coffee. It was still a little hot.

"It was my idea," Belle replied quietly, "And he is a nice guy. Really. He's hung out with me and Will a bunch of times and well, he works for the university so you know he has no criminal record-" she grinned: as if that was enough to seal the deal.

"This is possibly the most crazy, harebrained idea I have ever heard of."

"I know it's a little unorthodox-" Emma scoffed, "-But surely it's worth thinking about? He'll pay for everything, you'll need to keep it legal for 18 months, tops, attend a couple of immigration interviews… Then a nice quiet divorce with a payout for you."

"Just like that."

Belle shrugged, "Kinda."

Emma stared into her coffee cup, watching the foamy bubbles float and swirl on the surface, reflecting a rippled reflection of her face.

This was crazy, stupid, reckless, illegal-

And she was actually considering it.

/

The shoes pinched her toes. Belle's feet were a good half-size smaller than hers, but given they were sling-backs they just about fit. She tugged the hem of her skirt down, the cream silk covering her knees but a little wrinkled from the journey.

Oh well, she thought.

Belle was still chattering as they made their way inside. Something about Will and Killian and the time-

They made it to the ceremony room after a few missteps in the ill-fitting shoes and as Emma caught her breath, Belle opened her large purse thrust a small posey of forget-me-knots in her hand.

"Your something blue," she explained.

Emma frowned, giving her friend a pointed look, "This is not real," she whispered.

Belle leaned closer, "Appearances are everything. And, anyway, that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it." She stood back and shrugged. Emma couldn't help but crack a smile - Belle was one of the most optimistic people she knew, always seeing the bright side, even on a cloudy day. "So, you ready?"

"As I'll ever be…." Emma muttered, feeling her stomach churn as the large, oak doors began to open.

/

 _Five weeks earlier_

Three tequilas later and she was still shaking.

It had been her idea to meet in a bar. It was a good excuse to get mildly intoxicated before meeting the guy she might marry.

 _Marry._

She tapped on the bar and the bartender lined up another shot that she quickly threw back.

"Emma?"

 _Oh God, oh crap…_

 _This must be him._

Looking up the first thing she saw was a smile, broad with nice not-too-perfect, not-too-white teeth lined with soft looking pink lips.

She smiled back. An automatic, terse smile that she saved for occasions when she was uncomfortable.

"Killian?" she replied, meeting his so-blue eyes and feeling a flush of attraction. She was always a sucker for pretty eyes.

So he was cute. That couldn't hurt…

He nodded and sat next to her. Then there were an awkward few seconds where she toyed with her empty shot glass and he straightened his shirt.

"Drink?" she finally asked.

"Beer?"

Emma waved at the bartender, "Two Red Stripes."

"Good choice," he chuckled as the two bottles arrived.

Okay, he was cute and his accent was kinda nice. Two ticks in the yes box.

They each took a sip.

"So, I'm guess you think I must be a crazy person."

"You said it," she replied with a shrug. He raised his eyebrow in a ridiculous way that she should not have found attractive.

(But did).

He began to pick at the paper label of the bottle with his thumbnail. It was saturated with condensation so it started to peel away easily.

"Desperate is more apt," he insisted, "Trust me, I was the last person who ever expected to be in this predicament…"

If anything, Emma realized, he seemed embarrassed about the whole situation: shifting in his seat, rolling the bottle between his hands.

"But here you are," she replied with a little more snark than she had intended.

Silence.

"I'm sorry-" she began.

Killian linked his hands together on the bar.

"No, you're right. This is the dumbest idea. I'm not even sure how I managed to let Belle talk me into this. I should go-"

He moved to reach for his wallet.

Emma balled her eyes shut.

"Wait - stop-"

When she opened them he was staring at her expectantly. "Look, I'm not promising anything, but Belle assures me you are normal and not a serial killer, so how about we put that topic of conversation to one side for the moment, finish these beers and then…"

"Then?" he asked with another goddamn eyebrow raise.

And she couldn't believe what she said next: "Then we'll see."

/

"Repeat after me: With this ring I thee wed, and with all I am, and all I have, I honor you."

Emma did as she was asked, numbly repeating the words, her fingers shaking a little as she held the simple gold band and threaded it onto his finger.

When she was done, he quickly grasped her hand before she could pull it away, squeezing it gently until she looked up and saw a soft, reassuring smile on his lips.

Her heart was beating so hard, surely everyone could hear it. The drum rhythm seemed to be getting faster and faster, the blood rushing to hear ears.

 _God_ , she didn't want to pass out.

Taking deep breaths, she held out her own hand.

 _She would not faint._ She was not some swooning damsel in distress.

His hands were warm. Soft, but still with texture. He ran his thumb over the back of her hand as the Justice of the Peace spoke.

"With this ring I thee wed, and with all I am, and all I have, I honor you."

The words sounded different in his accent. They seemed to carry a gravity with his dulcet voice.

It all seemed so much more serious.

The feel of the cold ring slipping on her finger snapped her from her thoughts. She looked down, expecting a plain gold band like he had provided for himself. Instead she saw an intricate design of a heart, held by two hands, wearing a crown. It was familiar but she couldn't quite place it…

His hand wrapped tighter around hers. The Justice of the Peace closed the small, black book he was holding and smiled.

"Emma and Killian, you have heard the words about love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings."

Killian squeezed her hand gently.

"It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!"

 _So this was it. They had done it-_

She turned to face him, prepared to give him the small kiss they had discussed, Belle already whipping out her camera, Will slapping Killian on the shoulder-

One hand at her waist, one came to cup her cheek-

He leaned forward.

A minuscule pause followed, as if he was checking for permission.

She wound her fingers in the lapel of his handsome deep-blue suit.

His lips met hers.

(Warm and soft as she had thought).

Her free hand slipped up into his hair.

Her left foot popped backwards as she tilted her head and their lips parted.

A swipe of tongue and her stomach dropped to the floor.

A shiver ran down her spine as she was pulled closer to him.

And he kissed her again and again and again-

She knew her lipstick would be smudged and her dress more wrinkled from where his hand held her so tightly.

But as they parted, with a tingle on her lips, she couldn't quite find herself to care.

 _ **A/N**_ _ **So, yay, new story! Im hoping for lots of quick, short chapters should my muse cooperate!**_

 _ **Please let me know what you think, I'm dying for your feedback!**_


	2. Reality

Stretching out her fingers, she stared at the gold ring.

It felt heavy and unfamiliar, the digits beside it struggling to accommodate the band's width; the metal dug into the fleshy part of each finger. She wondered if it she would ever get used to it.

But it was not like she had to wear it all the time anyway.

"Em?"

She smiled automatically, lifting her head up at the sound of Will's voice. "Yeah?"

"You want some more champagne?"

"Sure," Emma nodded, balling up her fingers as she felt Killian slip back into the seat next to her.

Will filled the four glasses. Both men had removed their ties and below the table Emma had slipped off Belle's borrowed shoes.

"I think we need a toast," the other woman announced, lifting up her glass. "To the future," she announced with an enigmatic smile.

"To the future," Emma echoed softly, tipping the rim of her glass against Belle's, then Will's and finally Killian's, taking a sideways glance as the two crystal stems clinked together, her eyes lingering as he took a sip, the liquid bobbing down his throat.

Her husband's throat.

In that moment she realized that however false and fake this was, however temporary the state of their union - they were married.

Taking in a shaky breath, her chest suddenly felt tight. She wanted to rip off the silk and lace shift that Belle had helped her choose the day before, it seemed like the only way that she would be able to breathe again.

"Excuse me," she stuttered, moving to her feet.

"You alright, love?"

She stared, wide eyed at the source of the concern. Killian's brow was creased, his eyes questioning her further than his words allowed.

Emma shrugged, "Yeah, just a little warm in here… I need to go freshen up."

Registering Will and Belle's unsubtle glance, she tossed Killian a brief smile before dashing, barefoot, to the ladies restroom at the other side of the restaurant.

The washrooms were the fancy type, with an annexed powder room, filled with large, dazzling mirrors and soft lighting. Emma sank into the first chair she found, avoiding her reflection.

"You forgot your purse-"

She locked eyes with Belle as she let the door close behind her. Thankfully it was mid-afternoon and the Friday rush was yet to begin, so they had the space to themselves.

Not quite sure what to say, she silently accepted the purse and opened it, pulling out cosmetics as Belle sat in the chair beside her.

"So - this place is nice, right?"

"Yeah?" Emma nodded automatically, opening her compact and dabbing powder onto her nose.

Belle tutted and rocked her head from side to side. Emma knew she was about to get the third degree. Her friend was nothing if not predictable in her actions.

"Alright, spill."

Emma tapped her foot a few times, debating flat out lying about the cause of her unease. But Belle was almost as good at spotting a lie as she was, so instead she sighed and pursed her lips.

"I'm married," she gulped, finally looking at herself in the mirror, seeing the fear in her eyes that she had hoped wasn't there for all to see.

Belle shrugged, "Technically…" she replied, wincing a little as she smiled tersely. "But it's not real - real real, I mean."

Puffing out a breath of warm air, Emma buried her face in her hands.

"I know," she huffed through her fingers, "And I know we talked about all this, and how we had to make everything seem as authentic as possible-"

Damn it, she would not cry.

A small hand rested on her shoulder, "But this isn't how you pictured it."

Sniffling a little, Emma laughed at herself, feeling all at once ridiculous and emotionally raw.

"No, no it's not," she agreed, shaking her head.

"Oh, Em…"

She found herself being bundled into the smaller woman's arms, spanning the gap between the two chairs as she pressed her face into the crook of her neck.

"I'm being stupid," Emma insisted, sniffling a little more, glad the prickling of tears at her eyes had abated and blinking away the remaining stinging sensation. "I mean it's not like I have any family to care… Or even that I wanted to get married someday-"

Belle took hold of her shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"Look, this is all normal. The whole marriage thing is drilled into us from when we're little girls! Princess needs her prince! Barbie needs her Ken! If this didn't strike a chord with you I'd be more worried."

Though still frowning, a smile began to lick at the edges of her lip. "So you don't think I'm being ridiculous for getting a little emotional?"

With a pointed look, Belle ended the conversation.

"Okay," Emma nodded.

"You're too hard on yourself, you know that? Remember why you are doing this."

Emma turned back to the mirror, running her fingers through her loose blonde curls and tilting her head.

She was doing this for her future. She was doing this for her.

And for a friend she had know for a little shy of two months.

"And I have to admit, that kiss looked pretty hot. That has to be at least a teeny benefit, right?"

Feeling her cheeks turned pink, Emma's mind turned back to the kiss they had shared at the end of the ceremony. Her toes curled and a shiver rattled down her spine.

"It doesn't hurt," she admitted as she picked up her lipgloss, dabbing it on her lips where she could just about still feel his mouth on hers.

/

 _Four and a half weeks earlier_

He'd brought pizza, she'd provided hard liquor.

Sitting around her tiny dining table, they had been discussing the logistics of this crazy plan over hot slices of pepperoni, washed down with gun and juice.

"What on earth made Belle think of this, anyway?"

Across the little round table, Killian shrugged, wiping away a speck of pizza sauce from his lip with his thumb. "I'd had a bit of a grumble to her and Will over coffee a few weekends ago, and the next thing I know I'm getting a call from her screaming over the phone that she has the answer. She said something about a movie, or a TV show…?"

"Green Card? The Proposal?"

"No idea," he replied, with a roll of his eyes. "But damn, she was convincing."

"I get that," Emma chuckled, reaching for another slice. "Do you think we could really pull this off?"

"Perhaps," he admitted, dipping his gaze to the table between them. "It's not without risk, but from the research I've done it should be relatively simple."

Chewing thoughtfully, Emma lay back in her chair, her jeans already a little tight from too much pizza.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He nodded.

"Why? Why go to all this effort, Belle said you used to work at some prestigious college in London."

He balled up the paper napkin that was on the table beside his plate, running his tongue along his lips as he raised his brows together.

"My life is here. I've been at Columbia for five years now. I've nothing to go back to."

"No one?"

Killian shook his head. "No family to speak of. I've grown comfortable here and the idea of being forced to leave…"

"I get it," Emma replied, "I mean, I'm not from here. I grew up mainly in Kansas. But New York just has this kinda pull…"

"Exactly," he added. He suddenly looked a little nervous, pressing his palms against his thighs, a lock of unruly black hair falling over his forehead (making him look kinda cute, innocent almost, which surprised her as every other part of him was very male and very adult). "So, what do you think? Are you in?"

Maybe it was a moment of insanity, but as she stared into his blue, blue eyes she saw nothing but honesty and hope, and she knew then that she would be able to trust him.

"Sure, let's do this."

His smile in reply was enough reward for the moment.

And as he began to talk in more detail about the process, Emma tried to stop her mind wandering and thinking of all the ways this could go wrong.

/

After steeling her nerves - and her erratic emotions - with a well-crafted Manhattan, Emma found herself relaxing somewhat.

So this wasn't the most conventional situation. So she was posing for kinda-fake wedding photos with a guy she had known for just over a month. So she was technically defrauding the U.S. government for financial gain. Did it really matter?

It's not like it was going to hurt anyone.

Killian was a nice enough guy, and handsome (she'd give him that) but she saw reflected in him her own single mindedness and emotional distance.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Smiling, Emma glanced at Killian as he reappeared at their booth. They'd ditched midtown when the evening crush began, catching a couple of cabs down to the East Village. The bar had been Will's suggestion, a place that was 'in' right now he'd said. The doorway had been hidden down a side street, its opening covered by a red velvet curtain. She'd been skeptical about its curb appeal, but once inside they had found a chilled, laid back atmosphere with dim lights and cozy booths.

"You looked a little lost in thought."

"Just reflecting on the day's events," she admitted as he joined her on the booth's leather seating.

"Any regrets?" he asked, a hit of trepidation in his tone.

Perhaps she hesitated a little too long in her answer, or maybe she imagined the shadow of uncertainty that crossed his face.

"No," she insisted, reaching to take his hand from where it lay on his knee, "I know why I'm doing this and I accepted the risks. Let's just cross our fingers that this whole thing works out?"

He nodded softly, lifting up his glass and tapping it lightly against her own, "To things working out," he grinned.

She smiled too as she took a sip of her wine, taking just an extra second to let her eyes run over his face; the crinkles around his eyes, the pull of his lips over his teeth. A vivid memory of how it felt to kiss him sent her stomach into a somersault.

He was a good kisser.

Shaking the thought away, she looked over the booth at Will and Belle, their heads close and arms wrapped around each other. After six months together, they were just as wrapped up in one another as they had been in their first weeks. A twinge of sadness struck her: she would never have that.

"Um Emma, before I forget-"

She turned back to look at him, bathed in the darkness of the booth, his shirt buttons undone farther than necessary, dimples puncturing his cheeks-

"Thank you. This whole thing, I know it's a risk. So thank you."

Emma toyed with the gold band on her finger.

"Well, it's a mutually beneficial arrangement, right? You get to stay here, I get closer to opening my business-"

"Aye," he nodded, "When you put it like that-"

Before he could continue, they were interrupted by the sound of a high pitched shriek.

"Oh. My. God. Are you wearing a wedding dress?"

The source of the voice was a tipsy looking redhead with a Hermes handbag and expensive looking heels.

Cheeks burning, Emma remembered she'd slipped off her coat and her cream gown was rather bridal-

"Aye," Killian nodded behind her, "Married this afternoon."

(She silently thanked him for speaking, not really trusting her ability to answer that question correctly.)  
"Well honey, you can't be drinking Chardonnay on your wedding night! Bartender, a bottle of Dom Perignon for the happy couple!"

It was only then that Emma registered the gaggle of ladies who accompanied their unexpected benefactor. Pulling her to her feet, they complimented her dress and whispered loudly in her ear about how handsome her groom was (she blushed deeper at this). Killian was wrangled by another couple of ladies, fawning over him as Will and Belle laughed at the scene from their position in the booth.

Bottles of champagne were brought out, crystal stems were topped up and the new found friends raised a glass together in honor of the 'lovely couple'.

Although now standing a few people away from each other, their eyes met at the toast, a strange secret smile on his lips.

It was probably from the alcohol and the atmosphere, she told herself.

Yet somehow, she couldn't help but return it.

Maybe playing pretend didn't have to be such a bad thing.

 **A/N: So I really struggled here! I had wanted this whole story to be in Emma's POV, but I realised writing this that this story needs Killian's perspective. From the next chapter onwards we will be alternating between the two. I for one can't wait to see what's going on in his mind!**

 **Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your reviews and support! And to my wonderful beta, Nickillian/Ztofan for her reassurance, enthusiasm and brilliant ideas.**


	3. Professor Jones

Such a crazy idea - really. But beautiful in it's simplicity.

He'd been sceptical at first, Belle seemed to be full of ideas and ramblings from the books that passed through her hands every day. But, the more she had talked, the more he had come around to the notion.

It had crushed him the day of the meeting with the Dean of the University. They'd missed a deadline for renewing his visa which now put the process back and meant it was unlikely to get processed in time. Damn quotas and rules and such nonsense.

But he couldn't go back. It was that simple. If it were impossible to stay in New York, he would explore his other options, but returning to England was out of the question.

And he did love this city.

He loved the damn cold winters and the blistering hot summers. The endless traffic and the thousands of yellow cabs. The hot dog vendors and the blue shirted cops. The towering skyscrapers and the back street alleys. He loved it all.

So he said yes. Yes, to the insane idea of marrying a stranger. Yes, to the belief that they could come to an arrangement of some kind. Yes, to the hope this would be the answer to his prayers.

/

It was after ten when Killian woke, sunlight streaming through his open curtains, tongue dry and head thumping. Reaching to brush back his hair, a twinkle of gold caught his eye.

He was still wearing the ring.

Slowly, he stretched out his fingers and brought his hand closer to his face. The ring was a simple enough piece of jewelry, bought a few days earlier from one of those chain jewellers with too bright lighting and overly enthusiastic sales people. The yellow gold was shaped into a thick, curved band that looked out of place on his finger. With a small sigh he eased it off his finger. It left behind a small indentation in his skin, unaccustomed as it was to the wearing of such a piece.

He ran his finger over the mark.

So they'd done it. They'd actually bloody well done it.

Until the very moment the doors had sprung open and she had appeared at the door, cheeks a little flush and small bouquet in her hands, he'd really thought it wouldn't happen.

Well, it wasn't that he didn't trust Emma. No, he'd learned over the previous weeks that she was pretty much an open book and she considered her word to be a serious matter. Bit still…

The ringing of his phone halted his thoughts.

His hands searched the bed until he found it, tangled in his sheets, groaning as he slid open the lock screen.

"Scarlett."

"Dick head," his friend answered, sounding far to cheerful for the morning after that many drinks.

"Always a pleasure mate," Killian replied grimly, "What do you want?"

WIll chuckled down the line, "Just checking you're awake. We're picking you up in an hour and Belle was a little concerned by how fast you were knocking back that champagne last night. Doesn't want ya puking in her car."

"There will be no _puking_ in the car, mate."

"Aye, well, one hour, outside your place. Then we'll go get your missus."

"Will-" Killian warned.

He'd told him - numerous times - that joking about the situation he was in was not appreciated. Seems it still hadn't gotten through that thick, Yorkshire skull of his.

"An hour," Will repeated cheerfully before abruptly ending the phone call.

Stretching, Killian tossed the phone aside and took a deep breath.

And so it begins again.

/

 _Four weeks earlier_

Emma.

When Belle had mentioned the name, it had only taken him a moment to remember her.

Beautiful, blonde, standoffish.

(drunk)

They hadn't shared more than a few words of greeting the one time they had met, but she had still left a strong impression on him. She was just one of those kinds of people: the kind who say more with one look or gesture than a thousand words.

Prior to their first (well, technically second) meeting he had been incredibly nervous, loitering around the entrance to the bar for a full ten minutes before entering. Understandable, really, when faced with the prospect of pretty much proposing to a woman you barely knew.

But he had gone inside and found her, seemingly as anxious as him, empty shot glasses evidence of her predilection to use alcohol to still her own nerves (as he was wont to do on occasion). And he realised as they drank beer and talked about anything other than what they should talk about that maybe this crazy idea could actually work.

Tonight was different: more relaxed yet more serious in a way. Camped out in Killian's living room, Emma was staring intently at her laptop as Killian completed paperwork.

"Okay, I have your date of birth and occupation - mother's name?"

He looked up just in time to see Emma flinch. Her mouth settled into a thin line.

"Don't know," she quipped, her eyes trained on the laptop's screen.

"Come again?" he asked, loosening his fingers until the pen swung loosely between his digits.

Emma pursed her lips and and looked up. "I was abandoned as a baby. I have no idea who my birth parents are. I usually write unknown."

She lowered her eyes again, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she frowned in concentration.

"Oh love, I'm sorry, that must be-"

Putting up her hand, she halted him, "It was a long time ago. I'm over it."

Sensing the topic of conversation was off limits - for at least now - he carefully continued to mark the boxes with block capitals and black ink. "Well that's it then," he said as he placed down his pen. "Just need you to sign…"

Slowly he pushed the paperwork across the table. Emma closed the laptop lid and took up the pen, not hesitating before she signed her name in a whirl of loops and curls. "Done." she nodded.

A few quiet seconds passed as she gathered up the papers, tapping them to straighten them out.

"So, what next?" he asked.

Emma peeled open the laptop lid again and gave him a lopsided smile. "We need to file this," she pointed at the paperwork, "And then book a date with the Justice of the Peace."

"And it's as easy as that?"

"This is America," she quipped with a shrug.

"Right then," Killian nodded, lying back against the couch. They were sat on the floor around the low coffee table which was the only the only table space in his apartment. "I still can't believe we are doing this."

"Have you changed your mind?' she demanded, her voice low but tense.

"No- sorry, that came out all wrong. I just still find it unbelievable that a couple of weeks ago Belle was suggesting this and here we are now."

Emma stretched out her legs under the table, resting back on her arms so the cotton of her tank top pulled against her chest. He quickly looked away, trying not to hold the image in his head.

"Well, no point wasting time, huh?" She yawned. "Oh God, sorry I'm so tired. Long day."  
"Yeah," he smiled, "Me too. Um, I guess I'll file this and look into some dates?"

"Works for me," she quipped softly biting her bottom lip as she stood.

He watched, a little awkwardly, as she gathered her coat, shoes and purse, packing away her laptop and walking to the door.

"So, you'll call me?" she asked, one hand on the doorknob.

Killian nodded. "Goodnight," he muttered, reaching to to give her a hug as she went to shake his hand, both shuffling a little as they almost bumped heads, a flash of nervous heat running to his cheeks at the misstep.

"Sorry," she winced, laughing softly as she tugged open the door.

He tried again, this time stretching out his hand which she took and shook firmly, "Goodnight Killian."

/

To say that Belle's Mini was on the small side would be an understatement. With Killian and his bag in the back, it was a squeeze to fit Emma in. Somehow they ended up with their luggage piled against one side of the seat that was pushed back into the trunk. His legs barely fit behind Belle's seat, the seatbelt digging into his neck.

Emma was wedged in between him and Will's khaki holdall, her feet straddling both footwells, her knees tilting in his direction so their thighs just touched.

Of course, there was no a/c. Late September had arrived and an Indian summer seemed assured, warm moist breezes still lingering and lowered windows a necessity.

The radio played some 80's rock station Belle favoured and Will soon fell asleep, snoring loudly by the time they had left the city.

After exchanging pleasantries, he and Emma had settled into somewhat comfortable silence.

Hiding behind his dark sunglasses, Killian took the time to watch his new 'wife'. An indulgence, perhaps slightly voyeuristic, but he had always been an observer of people and this was too good an opportunity to miss. It was the writer in him, he explained to himself.

Soon into the journey she pulled out a well-thumbed paperback, chewing on her thumb as she flicked through the pages of what he soon saw was 'Gone with the Wind'. That raised an eyebrow (he filed that away, resolving to ask her sometime about her literary choices). The wind whipping around the car picked up strands of her hair and blew them softly around her face, until they tangled and twisted into a golden scramble. The cotton sundress she wore showed off the last of a summer tan, just covering her shoulders and by far the most feminine thing he had seen her wear (aside from the wedding dress, she was always in jeans and pants he had observed). So much to learn just by watching.

His quiet pondering about Emma Swan, continued until he too was lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the rubber tires on tarmac.

"Killian- Killian-"

A soft tap on his shoulder and he was waking up, the sky was beginning to darken so he pushed back his sunglasses to be greeted by a tired looking Emma. "We're here."

They stumbled form the car, Killian offering his hand, the three door mini not being the most accessible of vehicles. She took his offer of help, but only for the briefest of seconds, pulling it away as soon as she was on two feet. He tried not to read too much into that.

"Isn't it great?" Belle beamed from the trunk of the car, pointing at the small cottage at the end of a gravelled footpath.

"Yeah," Killian agreed, "It is great. Good pick, Belle."

"Well, if you need to have a fake honeymoon, it might as well be somewhere nice, right?"

Emma just shrugged.

They carted the luggage into the property, Emma quickly disappearing to investigate the space. Will was just about to make coffee for them all when Emma reappeared.

"Guys, there are only two bedrooms."

"What?" Belle cried, her face falling, "It definitely said three beds on the website…"

She began to rifle through her purse, a frown on her face.

"Found the third bed!" Will announced from the living room. The other three filed inside to see him pulling out an old, sagging sofa bed. "Shotgun _not t_ o have this one."

"Shit guys, I'm sorry-"

Killian shrugged, not that bothered overall. He'd take the damn sofa if he needed too. It's not like they had big plans for the weekend, stage a few pictures, have a few drinks, maybe lay out in the sun a little.

"It's fine Belle, really. Look we can share and the guys can bunk up. It's only for two nights," Emma's voice was calm but firm. Killian registered the look of disappointment that passed between Belle and Will. He knew it was their first trip away together. (Even if it was essentially chaperoning two newlywed fakers).

"Perfect," Belle nodded, her tone far less bright than her smile, "That solves the problem."

Emma smiled thinly, folding her arms. There was a tension in the set of her shoulders and the way she squared her chin. It was vulnerable and defensive. Confused, Killian tried to catch her eye.

"Come on then, wanker," Will grumbled, as he headed towards the staircase, "You'd better not bloody snore."

Rolling his eyes, Killian picked up his bag form the hallway as he followed.

And he almost imagined that as he left, Emma Swan's eyes followed him out of the room.

 _ **A/N: This was a pain to write. Really. But I got there in the end! We have two very confused, very damaged little cinnamon rolls here. I hope I'm setting the tone right at the beginning to get you all intrigued!**_

 _ **Reviews and messages and stuff make me so happy and make baby unicorns smile (one of those facts is a lie).**_

 _ **(PS - Sorry to my beta for posting this without her seeing it. All mistakes are my own!)**_


	4. Honeymoon

The car ride had been goddamn hot. Five hours to Cape Cod had sounded doable when Belle had suggested it, but in the late summer heat, the tiny space was stifling. And then there was spending all that time wedged knee-to-hip with _him_.

Emma rolled back on the bed, Belle having left her to rest once they had unpacked.

She was, in fact, exhausted. Not that sitting for that long was tiring, per se. But rather, sitting for that long whilst being hyper aware of the man next to her and simultaneously trying (pretending) to read, turned out to be actually extremely taxing.

It shouldn't be weird. It shouldn't even _feel_ weird. But for some reason it was.

Waking that morning, gold band still in situ, it had hit her (again) that she was married. Her earlier conversation with Belle had helped relax her the night before, but the stark, revealing light of a new day had brought all those feelings back.

And she couldn't help her mind slipping back to the kiss they shared.

He had, predictably, been a perfect gentleman all day. Posing with his arm around her for Belle's pictures, playing the part of the consummate groom to those who asked. She had learned enough about him in the last few weeks to understand that he was a pretty straight up, decent guy. That didn't mean she had him figured out, though.

Sliding in beside him, her cheeks had grown warm, her pulse fluctuating. She was nervous. Emma 'can handle anything' Swan was freaking out. And it felt strange.

Fumbling through some small talk, she'd managed to relax once he laid his head against the window. She pulled out her well-thumbed copy of _Gone with the Wind_ , her eyes blurring over the words: Tara, Scarlett, Mammy, Rhett… If she had read more than one page by the time they had arrived, it would have been a miracle.

Restless and confused, Emma stared at the ceiling until her eyelids felt heavy and she fell into a fitful sleep.

/

The smell of grilled meat had woken her. She had looked out onto the patio and saw Will and Killian sitting around the small metal table, sipping beers, as Belle attended to the foil wrapped veggies and ribs she had brought with them.

It had been her suggestion to spend a night relaxing in the cottage. Actually, this whole thing had been her idea.

 _Three weeks earlier_

On Mondays they met for lunch. In the winter they would huddle together in one of the diners that lined the streets near Emma's office but in the warmer months they would grab some take out and head to the park. It had been a ritual that had been forged soon after they met, when Emma had been checking out a lead on campus.

The thing is, Emma Swan didn't do friends. Not the close kind, in any case. She never had a BFF or a 'girlfriend' to confide in, at least not since she was a teenager. And she had been totally okay with that. But Belle French was persistent. After a coffee to discuss an ex work colleague who had defrauded an old employer, Emma handed her a business card. And that had been all it took. One call later and they were meeting for lunch. Then, Belle had offered use of the library for any additional research that Emma needed to do. Before Emma realized it, she had a friend whether she liked it or not.

"It will make everything sound more authentic - help your case!" she had insisted over Shake Shack burgers and French fries. "The more we make this look real, the better."

Emma had sighed, resigning herself to the fact that her friend was correct. Expecting just a ceremony and few quick pictures to do the job was a little naive. Receipts and stories and tacky souvenirs would add to the authenticity. "But spending a weekend alone with him? It just feels a little-" she'd shrugged, not quite able to verbalize her meaning.

"You don't have to go alone. It just has to _look t_ hat way. Will and I could come."

With a suitable amount of grumbling, she had agreed (pending Killian's agreement, of course). "But that's it, right? Some photos, a few days away? That will be enough?"

It wasn't like she was worried. Not exactly - she had skated the thin line of legal and illegal on many occasions. But the idea of having to pretend for an extended period of time made her feel queasy.

Belle shook her head, "No, it should be enough. That and the interview, sign a few papers. We've researched it all, remember?"

Emma nodded, she had done the research herself - trawling legal books and the internet (on a VPN, of course). "You're right. It's all going to be fine. Just fine."

/

The ribs were damn good. Especially when combined with grilled veggies and imported beer.

They talked and laughed, ate and drank and overall enjoyed the quiet calm that comes upon city dwellers when they leave their usual habitat.  
Belle had started out perched next to her, but as the evening wore on she inched closer to her beau, until by the time it was getting close to ten, she was sitting in his lap, arms around his neck.

Emma rolled her eyes, though she couldn't find herself to be annoyed. Belle and Will maybe getting on for almost a year together, but they were still definitely in the honeymoon stage.

As their soft words moved to kisses, Emma turned her chair to face Killian.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked with no preamble, the _exact_ meaning of his question hidden behind his simple smile.

Across from him, Emma shrugged softly, "Tired, I guess?" she replied, dropping her eyes as his gaze turned to a more questioning one.

Seemingly he accepted her answer, "Aye, it's a long old journey to be sure. Still, it's nice to get out into the open isn't it?"

"I don't often get the chance to leave the city," she admitted, taking a sip of the iced tea she had been nursing for the past hour. "Vacations are not exactly on my priority list."

"Yes, Belle said you have been saving for some time now-" He stopped, his jaw dropping open slightly. He flashed her an uneasy glance, pulling his mouth into a lopsided grin.

"I have," Emma nodded, "Having my own business is important to me."

She stared a moment, as if daring him to say more. They had a signed agreement, locked away in a safe in Emma's office, detailing her 'settlement' upon their divorce. But he'd never really delved too deep into her reasons for needing the cash.

"As is remaining here, in my adopted home," he countered, bringing his bottle of beer to his lips and taking a long drag, never taking his eyes off her.

/

Somehow in the midst of their conversation, Belle and Will had slipped away, leaving them alone on the patio with the dying embers of the barbecue.

"Looks like we have been ditched," Killian laughed. He was sitting with his feet stretched out, crossed at the ankles. It was dark enough out there in the country for the number of stars visible to be at least quadruple the number of ones in New York. Emma had pulled on a hoodie, the chill in the air just a little less than comfortable.

"It was inevitable," Emma replied, rolling her eyes, "At least they were discreet." Her mind flashed back to a night spent on Belle's couch after her birthday party and some particularly scarring noises that emanated from her bedroom. "But maybe we should stay outside for a while longer…"

"Indeed," Killian agreed.

They were silent a moment. The sound of crickets floated around them. His breathing became slow and deep. A light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees that overhung the porch.

And she wasn't acutely aware that they were alone. Nor that he was wearing the same cologne as to their wedding the day before. In addition, she hadn't let her eyes wander to the rolled up sleeves of his flannel shirt and the tiny dark hairs that creeped up his arms-

"Tell me something," she blurted out; the only way she could think of making her brain stop thinking.

"Like what?" he asked, a playful lilt to his voice.

"Anything…" she wracked her brain, "Something… personal." She shifted a little uncomfortably in her chair, "Even up the score since you know about my disastrous start in life."

Her skin prickled whenever she talked or even implied her birth parents. She dug her toes further into her Converse, willing the unease to go away.

"Well, since you asked, I too didn't have the best start. My father ran out when I was a kid, never saw the bastard again."

"So he just… left?"

Killian shrugged, "There were rumors that he had run away overseas…"

Emma squeezed her knees together. So even if fathers stick around for a little while, they eventually leave. Huh.

"And your mother?"

"My mum," Killian sighed happily, folding his arms, "Was an angel. Best, kindest, loveliest woman you ever met."

" _Was?_ " she asked, eyes narrowing.

"We have something in common, Emma. My mother died of cancer when I was 19. It was quick, she didn't suffer much. So, like you, I am somewhat of an orphan."

"At least you met your mother," Emma muttered, trying to imagine what even having a few years of memories of her own mother would feel like.

"Yes, I suppose that's where we differ. But surely, you must have someone who cared for you as a child?"

Emma wrapped her arms around her waist, not cold from the chill but from the raw emotions this subject was tapping into.

"A few foster moms were nice - I was with one for three years. But she had her own kids. I did almost get adopted."

"What happened?"

"The mom got pregnant before the adoption went through. And I guess they decided they didn't need me anymore- I mean, I was still pretty little, so I'm not really sure of the details." She balled her fists into the sleeves of her sweater, delving further into the shell of cotton protection.

"That's awful, Emma. I'm sorry."

Usually, she would reply with an 'it's not your fault' or 'it was a long time ago'. But instead she just gave him a smile. One that said 'thank you'.

/

Inside, Killian and Will's room had the door closed, a sock draped over the door handle.

"God that guy is such a frat boy," she muttered to herself. Behind her, Killian took the last few stairs, catching sight of the door moments after her.

"Bollocks," he muttered, making Emma laugh a little at his British swearword. "Looks like I'm taking the couch then."

"You can't," she replied automatically, "You'll probably wake up skewered by the springs in that damn bed, like some human shish kebab!"

"I didn't know you were so concerned for my well-being," he retorted with a raise of an eyebrow in a way that seemed strangely flirtatious

Feeling a little flustered, Emma shook her head, "I just don't feel like spending my morning in the ER," she insisted, giving him a smug smile.

"Well, failing making a menage a trois with the lovebirds here, I can only see one solution-" He was teasing her. She could tell by the way his eyes danced and lips twitched. He was so much more relaxed than she had ever seen him. It was interesting, for sure.

There were a million reasons to backtrack.

But she was an adult, wasn't she? She could sleep in the same room as a friend - a guy friend?

"Yes, Professor, you can share my bed. Since we are technically married I'm sure I can cope with you sleeping a few feet away from me."

"And here I was thinking that you had engineered the whole thing," he winked and she could tell he was joking. But there was a little something in the way his eyes lingered on her perhaps a second or two longer than needed. She shrugged off the thought.

"Don't get cocky," she insisted with a wave of her hand as she turned to the bedroom, "Just give me a couple of minutes."

As the door closed behind her, blood rushed to her face.

What the hell was she doing? Flirting back with this guy, letting this strange intimacy between them continue even when she knew this was _not bloody real_. After this weekend, she would only see him for official meetings. Interviews. Sign a few documents. Back to being almost strangers, really.

She pulled on her shorty pajamas, scraping back her hair before settling her face into a neutral expression. As an afterthought, she tugged her hoodie back on. It was warm enough in the room, but the extra layer was a comforting extra barrier.

"Ready," she called out.

"You don't snore do you?" he asked as he sauntered in.

"No," she scoffed as he walked around to the other side of the bed, "You?"

"Don't think so," he shrugged.

Trying her best to ignore him as he toed of his shoes and loosened his belt, she flicked off the overhead light so only the bedside lamp was still glowing. The bed was king size, so Emma climbed into her side, inching as close to the edge as comfortable, purposely not looking at him as he removed his jeans and shirt. At least he was wearing a white t-shirt beneath so he wasn't ridiculously exposed. She felt the bed shift as he climbed in.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed.

"Goodnight," he finally said in a low whisper.

Emma reached over, turning off the lamp. "Goodnight," she replied.

At first, the only sound was shallow breathing. But then, from across the hall - and two closed doors - came a creak of bed springs, followed by breathy moan. Emma felt her cheeks reddening again; blood rushing to her skins surface.

The sloppy sound of wet kisses and more creaking followed. She shifted uncomfortably: acutely aware of her own body, of his not even two feet away… of her friends in the other bedroom.

More sighs and moans and kisses and she can't help but mutter, 'Fuck."

"I guess they're going in for round two…"

"Urgh," Emma groaned, rolling over until her face pressed into the pillow. "You'd think after six months they'd be over this," she replied quietly.

She heard him turn. Looking up, he was lying on his side, head resting on his hand, a wry smile on his face.

He has so many smiles, she thought briefly.

"You think these things have a time limit?"

She shifted until she mirrored his position, perhaps only an arms span of space between them. "Don't you?" she challenged. In her experience, the honeymoon period was brief in relationships. Well, the few relationships she had actually had.

"I think it depends on the couple," he replied softly.

By now, her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark room. The thin curtains filtered in just enough moonlight to make him a silhouette in the darkness. The line of his shoulders, the mussy texture of his hair-

She pressed her eyes closed.

There were a few louder moans accompanied by the rhythmic rocking of the wooden bed in the other room.

And then she couldn't hold it back. She burst out laughing, she pressed her hand against her mouth, but it didn't help. Then he was laughing too. At first a gentle, shoulder shaking laugh. Then, a deeper chuckle, as Emma began to hiccough, struggling for breath as the absurdity of the situation hit.

Before she knew it, both were in the middle of a full belly laugh, tears streaming from the corner of her eyes-

There was a banging on the wall; "Shut the fuck up you tossers!" came's Will's voice, disarmingly clear through two sets of walls.

It took a few deep breaths for the laughter to die down. Her stomach ached and she was a little out of breath. But it felt good. She hadn't _really_ laughed in a long time.

"I think that's our cue to sleep, lass. Busy day tomorrow."

"Yeah," she nodded, "I guess so. Goodnight, Killian."

She went to move back to her earlier position when his hand touched her arm, her skin tingling even through the layers of cotton. "Goodnight Emma, and thank you again. For everything."

And she rolled back onto her other side, tucking the comforter under her chin, trying to ignore his presence, trying to forget just how natural and comfortable being around him was becoming.


	5. Larry

_**A/N** **Rather naughtily, I've posted this without my lovely beta seeing it - surprise! Therefore, all mistakes are my own!**_

"What?" Killian asked as he pulled his sunglasses over his eyes.

"Nowt mate, you're just rather quiet, even for you."

Killian grimaced slightly, not really in the mood for a Will Scarlett grilling, glad his eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses. "Just tired," he quipped, giving his friend a pointed look.

Clearing his throat, Will seemed surprisingly a little bashful, "You know what it's like when you've had a few beers with your lass…"

"Actually, I don't," Killian replied.

"C'mon, Jones, don't piss me about. Anyway - it worked out quite well for you?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Killian lay back against the slatted wooden bench that was bolted to the deck of the small, sightseeing ship. Pointedly ignoring the other man's suggestive comment, he fixed his eyes on the horizon. Will leant closer to him. "Seriously mate, you can't tell me that you haven't thought about it."

"About what?" Killian sighed, knowing fine well what the answer was.

"Emma! She's a bit of a looker. You could, you know-"

Killian snapped his head in his friend's direction, "Oh of course. Yes. I'll just sleep with the woman who I have fraudulently married and perhaps ruin the tentative understanding that stands between us, all in the pursuit of a casual shag."

"Geez, Jones, no need to be so bloody serious. I was just saying…"

Will slid back to where he had been sitting. Killian felt a jolt of remorse, "Sorry mate. Like I said, tired…"

The problem was, of course he had bloody thought of it. He had eyes, for Christ's sake! Emma was gorgeous - indeed the kind of woman his younger self would have tried to pursue had she stumbled across his path.

But it was more than just how she looked that made him feel drawn to her.

Last night had been an eye opener. Her usually guarded manner had relaxed a little and he had even allowed a little bit of the old (retired) flirtatious Killian out, enjoying the way she batted back his quips. It was almost as if things between them was entirely different, as if the past and their current situation had melted away and he was getting to see the real her.

Then sharing a bed…

Bloody hell, he was over 30 and well versed in the ways of women, but- He tightened the fingers of his right hand into a ball as he thought back.

Once their laughter had settled and the house was silent, he'd laid awake, unable to sleep. He'd listened to her breathing, soft and shallow, her body curved away from him, dipping where her torso met her hips, long blonde hair fanning out over her pillow. Restless, he'd turned to face her, watching the moonlit shadows as they danced over the bed - the breeze outside rustling the branches of the trees that grew in the cottage's yard.

He shouldn't want her in the way he did as he watched her sleep and let his imagination take over. That was obvious. But he couldn't stop his mind working- They had kissed, and he knew her lips were soft and she tasted like vanilla and mint. He knew she wore soft floral perfume and her shampoo was fruity and fresh. He wanted to tangled his fingers in that hair, to run his hands around her waist and over her ass- yet, even more so, he wanted to stare into those intriguing green eyes and figure out what made Emma Swan tick. And what had made Emma Swan build the thick layer of defences that he had discovered over their brief acquaintance.

He knew she was beautiful and intelligent and gutsy- But he was beginning to see the chinks in her armour. The way she frowned when unsure of herself. The guarded look in her eyes when she talked about her past. The way she smiled when she was really smiling and not just because she thought she should. It was all so intriguing and frustrating.

He'd closed the door on women - on romance - many years ago. It was just easier that way. His modus operandi for the past few years had been to avoid women in situations where they could become close, just to be safe. And that was what had made this all the more complicated: he was going to be part of her life for the foreseeable future.

Frowning, he decided the only course of action was detachment. He would check himself in her company, keep things professional.

This was a business arrangement after all.

/

A boat tour. Shopping in P-town. A couple of hours sunbaking on a beautiful beach.

In anyone's reality, this would have been considered a good vacation.

Even in Emma Swan's world.

Sure, she'd had to pose for a crap ton of pictures (and 'selfies') until Belle was satisfied that they had enough for a legitimate looking wedding and honeymoon album. But it had been an age long since she had spent a few days just unwinding and relaxing and she couldn't find it in herself to resent the ache in her cheeks from all the smiling. (Nor the lingering sensation of Killian's arms around her as they waited for Belle to capture the moment).

The tiny en-suite shower was not exactly high end, but the way the water soothed her sun-parched skin, she could have been in the fanciest spa in the city. A lazy, unconscious smile laced her lips as she thought over the day: of whale watching and ice-cream, sand between her toes and soaking up the last, fleeting, rays of summer sun.

It had never occurred to her that the tension that she carried in her shoulders could be eased by such simple means. She'd managed not to think about work and her life in New York for over 24 hours now and that was miracle for sure. Washing out the suds of soap from her hair, Emma sighed as the hot water relaxed the muscles of her shoulders even further.

And Killian had been, as always, a total gentleman.

The flirtatious moment from the night before seemed to have been forgotten and Emma was torn between relief and slight disappointment. She would not admit it to anyone, but she _had_ enjoyed the easy banter that had passed between them. It had been so long since she had let her self relax in that way around a man. Years, even. But with Killian it seemed to be getting easier and easier to forget her rules and just enjoy his company.

And that scared her.

/

"I've only ever had lobster _at_ Red Lobster…" Emma admitted as the stepped into the restaurant Belle had booked for them. It was fancy enough with suited waiters and designer chairs around white clothed tables. As they stood waiting to be seated, Killian whispered in her ear.

"Then you're in for a treat, love. Nothing like freshly caught seafood."

She blushed, feeling heat creek up her chest as his words tickled her cheek - his tone seemingly much saucier than the words that accompanied it. Or maybe that was her imagination. She straightened her shoulders and tried to brush off the feeling.

They were sat next to each other, on a small rectangular table with Belle and Will opposite them. Ordering quickly, they made their way to the lobster tanks that lined one wall.

Emma frowned, "This feels a little strange, like I'm sentencing them to death or something."

Beside her, Killian laughed softly, "I think their demise is imminent regardless, love, but it's just the timing that you have an impact upon."

She turned and caught his eye, "That doesn't really help," she insisted, her eyes lingering on his a little longer than needed.

(She could see flecks of gold within the blue in this light, she realised).

Looking back, she saw the last tank had only one lobster in it. It was smaller than most of the others, pressed up forlornly in one corner.

"Oh this little guy looks so sad," she whispered. "No one has picked him."

"Then you should," Killian replied, "Put him out of his misery."

Emma responded with a pointed look that made him grin - his lips just pulling over his upper teeth.

"I can't do that to Larry," she chuckled, tracing her hand over the glass where the little crustacean looked up at her sadly.

"You've named him already?" Killian laughed. Emma shrugged, marvelling at the way his cheeks rounded with he smiled and how his eyes lit up. He'd stepped a little closer - close enough to catch a whiff of his cologne and appreciate the little mother of pearl buttons on his white shirt-

"He looks like a Larry," she insisted, frowning and turning away to look at the other tank, catching herself - this exchange was sounding a lot like flirting again-

"You know," she announced, turning on her heel, "I think I'll have the shrimp."

And before Killian could reply, she bit her lip and dashed back to the table.

/

Detachment was not as simple as he thought.

They seemed to fall into easy conversation and what one would even call flirtation with startling ease. The more time he spent with her, the more she seemed to open up - her barriers unfurling like the petals of a flower.

He tried to check himself. Registering the look of shock in her eyes when she had turned away from him earlier, he'd returned to his seat with a more somber frame of mind.

Gradually, her stiff posture had softened and he felt like whatever danger they had been in had passed. Conversation flowed between the quartet. Will shared stories of his colourful youth. Belle had some interesting tales about what the students get up to between the stacks on the upper floors of the library. Emma, for her part, added in a few anecdotes of going undercover to catch a bond jumper.

It was nice. It was relaxed. It was almost like being on a double date, he thought as they ordered desert. Almost.

"So, Killian, we've all entertained you so far, your turn for a story," Belle insisted.

Killian flushed a little at the sudden attention, picking up the spoon on his table and spinning it between finger and thumb. "I'm an open book, love. An English professor does not carry with him the most exciting of stories."

"Bollocks," Will smirked as he took a sip of his beer.

"Well," he sighed, "There was this one time… I was at Uni-"

"That's College," Will informed Belle, who promptly rolled her eyes.

"And?" Emma asked beside him, her eyes narrowing with curiously and dancing in the flickering candlelight. He quickly licked his bottom lip, fixing his gaze on the spoon in his hand.

"I was in drama soc - it's like a club where you put on plays and things, but you really mainly drink - and we'd just done a performance of A Midsummer Nights Dream - before you ask, no, I don't act. I was stage manager, props and things-"

"And…?" Emma asked again, seemingly drawing a little closer to him.

"Well, we somehow ended up paying truth or dare in the dressing room - I blame the rum, first time I'd drank the bloody stuff. Anyway, I got dared to strip and run across the quad."

Across the table, Belle laughed, "Sorry, I just can't imagine you doing that."

"Alcohol is a strange mistress," he replied with a raise of his eyebrows. "And me being drunk and young and stupid - I stripped and took off. At first it was great - it felt weirdly freeing all that cool air - but then I ran into this lass - Sarah - who was from my Literature class. God, I had the biggest crush on her-"

"I can see where this is going," Will cheered across the table, a gleeful grin on his lips.

"Well let's just say the cold isn't generous to a lad and she was very, very sober…" He paused, remembering the feeling of utter embarrassment, swirled in an alcohol addled memory, "And it seemed like the most logical thing at the time to just act natural. So I walked by her, strolling almost, nodded and said 'Nice night for a walk'. She stared at me and I was going to say something else - when the rum decided to make a reappearance. Over her shoes."

"Oh my God!" Emma squealed beside him, "That's one way to make an impression!"

"Aye," he nodded, "When I woke up the next morning I nearly died of shame. I skipped that class for a month - nearly failed the damn thing."

The deserts arrived and the table quietened as the sweet concoctions filled their mouths.

"I'm beginning to understand why you might be single," Emma teased. "I _was_ starting to wonder-"

"You were?" he blurted out, his mouth moving quicker than his mind.

Emma visibly recoiled, her shoulders curving, the moment of bold intimacy gone in a flash, like a flame snuffed out.

"Well, you know, you're you and- and-" she was fumbling for words and Killian felt for her. This was a too personal topic for then, even in their current situation.

"Sorry lass, you don't need to explain. If my mother were alive I'm sure she'd be pestering me to settle down. But that's not on the cards for me."

She gave him a small, enigmatic smile, drawing her spoon through the quickly melting ice cream on her plate, "Yeah," she nodded, "Me either."

/

The bill was settled they were about to leave when Killian's eyes were drawn to the lobster tank where he and Emma were stood earlier.

'Larry' the lobster was still there, looking as forlorn as ever with his beady black eyes.

"Give me a minute," he called out to the others as they left.

Five minutes later, he was leaving, a insulated box under his arm.

"What the hell is that?" Will bellowed.

"A rescue attempt," Killian explained as they gathered around him, pulling up the lid and revealing what was inside.

"Larry!" Emma cried, her hand flying to her face. "You stole him?" she asked, a little incredulously.

"Bought him," he corrected, "The little fella was far too lonely looking. I thought perhaps we could let him out in the harbour, give him another chance?"

Emma's face was all wonder and surprise, he filtered out Will's laughter and Belle's quiet remonstrations to her boyfriend.

"I'd like that," she nodded, giving him a look that he couldn't quite name but made him suck in a quick, sharp breath all the same.

"You two go ahead, I'm going to get this guy back to the car before _he_ falls in the harbour." Killian looked over at Belle, she was barely holding up a now clearly drunk Will - obviously the tale about fresh air making the alcohol hit was true in this case.

"We'll just be a few minutes," Emma replied, nudging her head in the direction of the water across the quiet road.

Smiling, he followed. The impulsive decision to rescue the lobster had been motivated at least in part with the hope slackening the tension that had formed between them again. Whatever he seemed to do, they kept falling back into the same pattern - innocent enough topics quickly turning into something else - more intimate and somehow dangerous. Perhaps bonding over a lobster would be a safe topic.

Crouching down by the dockside, Emma peeled the lid off the box. "Hey little guy," she whispered, "You're going home!" Emma paused and looked at Killian, "You should be the one to release him."

He shrugged, "You should - you gave the the idea," he admitted.

"Okay…" she sighed, teeth pressing into her bottom lip.

Tucking her hair behind he ears, she lifted the box so she was eye to eye with Larry. "Now, this time avoid the nets and lobster pots. You might not get so lucky if you are caught again."

He couldn't help but smile at the earnestness in her voice. There was an unexpected, yet wonderful, tenderness in it.

With a plop, he was released into the dark waters of the bay. Emma replaced the lid of the box and they both stood, watching the moon light curve on the ripples of the water.

"Thanks," she whispered. "That was really sweet of you."

He shrugged, a sudden self consciousness overcoming him. "The rum makes me do odd things."

Emma turned her head to look at him, "So we've learned," she teased, "But I think it's 'cause you're one of the rare ones."

"What does that mean?" he asked, confused.

She stopped, mouth open, turning her head away. "Oh," she muttered, "You know…"

"No…" he croaked, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and an unexpected chill on his skin.

Slowly, very slowly, she twisted her body back towards his, her fingers toyed with the ends of her hair-

The beep-beep of a car horn broke the moment. "Hey guys - you done? Will's just about passed out here."

Killian peered and saw Will's faced pressed against the glass in the back of the car. "So I see," he smiled, tossing a fleeting glance back at Emma. She seemed relived.

The two got into the car - Killian taking the galant option of sharing the back with Will as Emma slid into the front seat. Driving home, they were quiet, listening to the late night radio as they wound their way through the small roads back to the cottage. Killian wondering all the time about just what Emma had meant.

 **A/N Your reviews and notes and messages mean everything to me. Thank you so much - they are so motivating! And a HUGE thank you to my wonderful beta Nickillian/Ztofan for the Larry the lobster idea!**


	6. Lessons

Emma twisted the almost forgotten ring around her finger. She'd left it on for the past couple of days, ensuring it was visible in the pictures they took.

Sighing, she felt something inside her deflate, slumping her shoulders, making her spirit feel flat.

The past 24 hours had been incredibly confusing.

Wandering into the kitchen, she turned on the electric kettle and pulled out the box of green tea bags Belle had brought. It was way too late for coffee, but she needed something warm in her stomach to help her sleep.

Slipping off her shoes, she prepared a steaming mug of tea, leaning back against the countertop as she cupped it with her hands.

She had nearly said something to him that would have been impossible to take back. To compliment him - to let him know that she saw something in him. Something that told her that beyond the charm and handsome features, he was more. One of the good ones. The ones who she had told herself either didn't exist, or simply weren't looking for _her_. Or for that matter, she for them.

"You okay?" Belle asked as she entered the kitchen, heading straight for the still steaming kettle.

"Yeah," Emma lied, "Just a little tired. How's Will?"

Smiling wryly, she prepared her own mug of tea. "Asleep already. I warned him not to have that fifth beer! Well, he's Killian's problem tonight…"

Emma tensed involuntarily at Killian's name, clenching her cup a little tighter.

Belle took a sip of her tea, "Mmm, that's good," she murmured, giving Emma a smile as she moved to sit at the small table in the middle of the kitchen and Emma joined her. Belle wore the soft, happy smile of a woman content. She and Will seemed so at odds with each other when taken as individuals, but together they worked. She soothed his harsh edges; he pushed her to be brave and try new things.

Silently, they sipped their tea. Upstairs they could hear Killian muttering obscenities at Will. Their eyes met and the two women laughed.

Emma's shoulders dropped a little as some of the tension melted away with the laughter. Stretching out her fingers, she slid off the still unfamiliar ring and rubbed the skin that had lain beneath the gold.

"That was a nice touch," Belle quipped, nodding in the direction of the ring.

"Hmm?" Emma mumbled, her brow bunching between her brows.

"The Claddagh ring, it's a nice little detail."

Emma stared down at the golden trinket, "Oh, that's what it's called?"

Raising her brows, Belle picked up the ring, threading it onto her pinky finger. "Yep, it's from Ireland traditionally. The heart is for love, the hands holding it mean friendship and the crown is for loyalty."

Pursing her lips, Emma let that information soak in. " Damn you're full of facts, Belle ," she chirped, pulling on a smile to disguise her discomfort. (All the while telling herself she was reading far too much into this and the romantic love token merely added credence to their marriage).

"Comes with the territory when surrounded by books all day," her friend shrugged. The brunette stretched her hand out in front of her face, looking more closely at the ring. "This one looks old, almost vintage - where did he get it?"

Emma shook her head. She'd never thought to ask him. "No idea," she admitted as Belle handed back the ring.

"Hmm," Belle sighed, giving her an enigmatic look before replacing it with a smile and picking up her steaming mug of tea. "Well, it was a good call. Make sure you mention it at your interview."

Emma groaned.

The immigration interview. It could happen any time in the next three months. Her stomach was already turning over at the thought.

"I will," Emma nodded, "I'm just worried about all the others things I need to learn before then."

"You guys already know the basics about each other. Relax and you will be fine."

"Hopefully," Emma sighed.

 _Or else they were screwed._

/

 _Two weeks earlier_

"Okay, so you have the date now? For sure?"

Emma nodded, picking up her phone and showing Belle the text she had received from Killian. "He went to city hall yesterday and we managed to get a cancellation."

"Wow - the 20th? That's only two weeks away. You guys got lucky."

 _Yeah,_ Emma frowned to herself as her stomach groaned and creaked with anxious nerves. _So lucky._

Belle must have caught the less than happy expression on her face. She pushed the cup of coffee she had just poured across the counter top. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Emma lied, shaking her head. "Ignore me."

Pursing her lips, Belle planted her elbow on the counter and laid her chin on her hand. "Em - if you aren't sure…"

Emma hesitated, sipping her coffee to buy her a moment. "It's not that," she insisted, and it was _partially_ true, "It's just I thought we would have more time to get to know each other…"

"Well," Belle began, giving her a lopsided smile, "I think the blessing here is Killian is who he is - he's what he appears, I mean. I would never have suggested this otherwise. Sure, you need to iron out a few details, make sure you can answer the right questions but beyond that, you probably know him as well as you ever will."  
"Really?" Emma asked, her eyes widening, "Everyone has secrets, Belle. Trust me - that's a big part of my job."

"You're so pessimistic."

Emma stuck out her tongue, laughing when Belle did the same. "Maybe I am just being paranoid."

"Well that's what happens when you avoid building relationships with other human beings."

"You're my friend!" Emma retorted.

"Only because I gave you no choice," Belle replied, smiling over the rim of her coffee cup.

"Fair point."

The matter was dropped by Belle, in favor of discussion of outfits and timings and all the other minutia, details that Emma would have never even considered for a 'real' wedding. As they talked, she added a reminder to her phone calendar.

 _Location: City Hall_

 _Time: 2pm_

 _Title: Get Married_

/

 _One of the rare ones._

On the journey back south to New York, he attempted not to overthink things. Stuffed in the back seat with a hungover Will Scarlett, he brooded behind his sunglasses. And tried not to read too much into the fact Emma had not exchanged more than three words with him since last night.

Really, he should see this as a positive turn of events.

It had been his intention to keep her at arm's length, to heed those warning signs, that temptation to fall into a flirtation with her. That only led in one direction, and that could not happen. For many, many reasons.

Will let out a loud, guttural snore and Killian dug him sharply in the ribs with his elbow. In the front, Belle and Emma were chatting away, seemingly oblivious to the men behind them.

Last night had been one of the most impulsive things he had done in years. It was something the old Killian Jones would have done without thinking. But not Professor Jones, professional, educated, mature - boring? He shook that thought away. He was older now. Surer of what he wanted. And what he _didn't_ want.

He couldn't deny though, that he'd done it to make her smile: almost as an apology for the line they seemed to have unconsciously crossed and that be found himself crawling backwards to the safety of. He knew she could sense it too. The way her eyes widened in surprise and panic when they had fallen into that easy closeness had made him start. It made him itch to know more of her past beyond the details they had shared. That would come to pass though. They both still had a lot to learn about each other, he thought with a deep sigh. Possibly they had rushed this. If they had taken more time they could have _-_

 _Could have what?_

Forcing his eyes closed, he tried to stop himself from thinking. Hindsight and regret was something he had decided to forgo a long time ago. He needed to think forward - to his future.

Whatever that would hold.

/

Index cards prepared in his pocket, paper bag of takeout in one hand and six pack of beer in the other, he knocked on Emma Swan's door.

His _wife's_ door.

Swallowing hard, be prepared a neutral expression as the door opened: though he was thoroughly unprepared for the sight that met him.

Emma gestured him inside; her hair was tied up in a ponytail, a bright pink workout shirt slipped over her shoulder, topping off black yoga pants that concealed absolutely nothing.

"Sorry," she sighed, "Just back from a run. Can you give me a few minutes?"

"Of course," he mumbled as she retreated into the apartment. "Take your time."

A minute later, he heard the shower turn on. The apartment was small - she'd told him earlier that it was a sublet, one apartment had been divided into two and so far, city planning hadn't realized

Twisting of the cap off two of the beers, he tossed the rest in the fridge and began pulling out plates and silverware for the takeout he had bought. He'd ordered Chinese - generic fare as he didn't know what she would like. That was something they needed to talk about.

He pulled out the index cards from the pocket inside his coat and wrote, 'takeout' on one of the blank ones.

The idea was that they would each prepared a list of basic facts and information that a spouse should know and then they would have until their interview to rehearse the information. Not that they knew when that would be yet…

After the trip to Cape Cod, Killian had taken an extra couple of days off work. They'd arrived back in the city late on Sunday night. His apartment had felt too quiet after two nights surrounded by others. Diving into his bed, he had hidden away, eating the last of some Shepherd's Pie from his near empty refrigerator. With some vacation time saved up, he had used Monday to tidy his apartment before sleeping off the weekend haze on the couch with Netflix. Tuesday was a quiet day for him, only one seminar with his senior literature students. He'd left early, making sure he had ample time to shower and redress for their planned meeting (taking far too long to choose that blue sweater that Belle has said made his eyes 'pop').

Settling on the couch, he began to flick through the index cards, acutely aware of the sound of running water not ten feet away. His errant mind began to wander, imagining the warmth of the steam, the smell of fresh soap, soaking wet Emma with her hair lathered in shampoo-

He caught himself just in time, grabbing his beer and taking a long draw.

It had been a long time - a _long_ time he reasoned. Being in close proximity to an attractive woman would only naturally make him react in this way. But it wasn't like he was a randy teenager - he could control his emotions.

A few minutes later she appeared, grey sweatpants low on her hips, worn with a black tank top and her damp hair spilling over her shoulders.

He nearly spit out his beer. His stomach tightened. Did she ever not look gorgeous, he thought to himself as she headed towards the kitchen area.

"Sorry she apologised," as she began to open the little cardboard cartons, "I got stuck at work and if I don't go running I find it hard to sleep."

Clearing his throat Killian nodded, "I shall remember that," he smiled.

"Yeah, that's a good detail - right?"

Killian mumbled, "Mmm-hmm," as he walked over to where she was standing, almost transfixed by the rivulets of water that trailed down her damp hair, snaking over the skin of her arms and décolletage.

"God I'm hungry," she went on, "How about we talk and eat at the same time?"

"Good plan," he smiled thinly, perhaps food and conversation would distract him from imagining his fingers following those water trails.

/

"Damn there's so much to learn," Emma yawned, her eyes flashing over the pile of cards that now covered the table.

"We'll be fine," Killian insisted, "It will probably be a few months until our appointment - I haven't even filed my visa transfer paperwork."

"You're right," she nodded, giving him a small smile.

She'd spent the night doing her best to keep the conversation flowing and her mind on business. When he was early, she'd been flustered and surprised, diving straight into the shower and trying to scrub away the feeling of seeing him for the first time in two days, his sweater perfectly matching his baby blue eyes.

Hot water and soap work miracles, and she'd returned to the living room, her mind on business and food. Swapping index cards, they gone through each others basic histories, where they had lived, hobbies- thankfully neither had any close family. That made things simpler for sure.

"I never asked you about work - I mean, will you be telling them-?"

Pulling a face, Emma tucked her feet under her legs. "I'll have to tell payroll but that's it. I'm in the field 90% of the time and it's not like I make friends with my colleagues. I keep my personal life away from work, you know?"

Killian folded his arms, "Understood. We just have to make this seem natural. I won't be able to avoid it, of course, with the visa change."

"Makes sense," she agreed. Briefly, she wondered about his work colleagues. Would they be shocked? Were they the old stuff types who would be scandalised by their whirlwind 'courtship' or were they more like Will - laid back and unflappable in any situation. "What do you think they will say?" she asked, curious all of a sudden.

He smiled, the apples of his cheeks reddening a little, "God knows. I shall tell them we've been dating quietly for a while. Most of the faculty are pretty laid back. Except Mr Gold, but then again he is retiring anyway."

Emma nodded, remembering her conversation some weeks ago about Mr Gold and how his departure would leave Killian in place to get tenure.

"Must be weird, working with so many people."

He laughed softly, "I've developed a thick skin and a habit of holing up in my office as much as possible," he revealed. She laughed to, imagining him camping out among his books and papers. That made her wonder what his office looked like. In fact, what his whole building looked like - she'd never made it past the library and it wasn't as if she had gone to college herself.

Her thoughts were broken when he spoke again. "Oh, before I forget-" Killian reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a few envelopes. "Your mail."

"Thanks," Emma smiled, scrunching her forehead as she studied them. She had had most of her mail redirected to Killian's apartment to create a further paper trail should it be needed. "We need to work out some kind of system for this…"

"I can drop it off, no problem-"

"No," she shook her head, "Your apartment is on the other side of the city-"

"Maybe we could alternate, every few days?" he suggested.

Taking a deep breath, she tucked a fluffy strand of now-dry hair behind her ear. "Okay, I just don't want to put you out…"

Cocking his head, he leaned across the sofa and placed an unexpected hand on top of hers. Her jaw dropped open at his touch: his warm, soft touch-

"Emma, it's nothing, really. This arrangement between us may be odd and _illegal,"_ he raised his brows and she stifled a laugh, "But at the very least I'd like to think we are now friends?"

Friends, she thought. Yes they were friends. They had formed a strange, synthetic friendship over the past two months that was hard to define any further. So friends would have to do.

She slipped back her hand into her lap, catching a slight flash of disappointment cross over his eyes that she chose to (try and) ignore.

"Yes," she agreed, "That we are."

"Good," he smiled, standing and picking up his jacket. "Do you need any help-" he gestured to the empty cartons and plates that sat in the kitchen.

She shook her head, "No, that's fine."

He gave a curt nod in reply and she immediately wondered if she had been too quick with her reply, perhaps it came over as a little dismissive. Squaring her shoulders, she followed him to the door. She really needed to stop overthinking every little thing.

He was reaching for the handle, when she caught sight of the ring; she'd left it on a shelf by the door so she wouldn't lose it. Curiosity burned as she remembered her conversation with Belle.

"Killian?" she asked.

"Aye?"

Reaching over she picked up the ring. "Can I ask where you got this? Belle said she thinks it's vintage."

His head dropped a little and his right hand when to scratch the layer of scruff on his chin that he had grown since the wedding ceremony. (The one she secretly thought suited him much more than the clean-shaven look, not that she'd tell him that-) "It was my mother's. She was Irish. It had been in her family," he explained.

"Oh," Emma sighed, her eyes widening a little as she realised the significance of the little band of gold.

"I thought it would be appropriate."

She nodded, a little lost for words, a little surprised and a little she-didn't-know-what. A mild panic overcame her: "What if I lost it? I would feel so guilty-" she began, babbling and not really thinking straight.

"You wont," he insisted, staring straight into her eyes, his sincerity clearly evident. "I trust you."

Slowly she swallowed, still rolling the ring between her fingers.

It was his mother's: his mother who had died. It must be important to him. She felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders a thousand times heavier than the ring.

Such an intimate, thoughtful gesture. Her heart felt heavy as she fleetingly imagined this was real and a man ( _him_ ) loved her in such a way that he would give her his own heart in the form of such a beloved token. Pushing the thought down, she locked that feeling back in her mind, being a door marked 'Never'.

"I guess I'll be extra careful then," she smiled, an uncertain one that barely licked at her lips.

Killian took a step closer, his familiar cologne once more wrapping around her, unconsciously inhaling his scent as he clasped her hand.

"You will," he replied, squeezing her fingers between his own, such an earnest expression on his face that she wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel worried. "Well, I'd best be going," he continued, releasing her fingers, though they still tingled where they had been grasped.

"Yeah," she nodded breathlessly, saying a quick goodbye as he closed the door.

Slumping back against it, she opened her palm and slowly slid the ring back onto her finger. It was a perfect fit: she'd never really questioned that before. It made her wonder about his mother and what she had been like. Which then made her think about her own mother.

Was she still out there? Did she love her? Why had she left her alone - like everyone did. Everyone she cared about.

Thick tears began to roll down her cheeks, a stark reminder of why her own heart was a closed door now. If you didn't let anyone in, then they couldn't hurt you.

That's what life had taught her and she intended to learn from that lesson.

 _ **A/N Thank you again so much for all your reviews and feedback - it means so much!**_


	7. Work

It was still warm but drizzling, giving the day that sticky kind of texture where neither the warmth was comforting or the damp refreshing. Emma's hair had frizzed as soon as she stepped out of her apartment building into the humid wall of air outside, making her curse and simultaneously lament the loss of summer and the impending arrival of the crisp autumnal winds.

She arrived at the diner early: a product of a quiet day and niggling need to see Belle that she couldn't quite explain. This week's lunch was to be the first since the ceremony had taken place. Also, it would of course be the first since her evening with Killian where she had learned he liked his coffee black with one sugar, preferred comedies over action movies and that her wedding band had originally belonged to his mother.

Biting on her bottom lip, her eyes blurred out of focus as she tried to concentrate on the menu. 'Granny's' it proclaimed at the top in proud, red letters, 'Family owned since 1972'. The diner did have a homely feel that one would not expect in midtown Manhattan; that was why she liked this place so much. Sure, it had the greatest cheeseburgers known to man, but it was the family pictures on the walls and the small vases of flowers on each table that made her want to come back time and time again.

Five minutes late, Belle stumbled into the diner, wrapped up in a green trench coat with a cream wool beret perched effortlessly on her head. Their breathless greetings and quick hug was followed by rapid ordering of their favourite cheeseburgers and a shared plate of onion rings. Their chatter was light until the food came, Belle amusing her with a recount of Will's day at work on Monday suffering from an extended hangover and Emma lamenting her lack of leads on the case she was working on.

Food quietened them briefly, the waitress made sure their sodas were topped up, Emma's stomach groaning in satisfaction as she realised she hadn't eaten all day. But as her hunger was sated, the desire to speak with her friend only increased in intensity. As they ate, she waited for the right moment to talk to Belle, to tell her-

 _Tell her what?_

What the hell exactly was on her mind? Taking a sip of her coke she tried to order her thoughts. She was feeling frazzled and a little off kilter, but she couldn't quite explain it.

Belle beat her to the punch. "Oh, look, before I forget, I have all the pictures from the weekend organised - do you want to see them?"

That was unexpected. Belle had offered to take the various shots that had taken and make an album of their 'wedding' and 'honeymoon', though she hadn't expected to see any of them for a few weeks yet. But curiosity burned, so she nodded, mumbling 'sure' as the brunette rifled through her purse before triumphantly pulling out her iPad.

She took the tablet from Belle, turning it so she could look at the screen. The first picture was clearly taken by Will before she had arrived. Killian's hands were stuffed in his pockets and he was smiling: not a smile of happiness as such, more an anxious one, where his lips stretched too thin and his eyes failed to crinkle at the edges. Swiping left, the next picture was during the ceremony. Her back was to the camera but his face was visible over her shoulder. He was more relaxed in this shot, attention fixed on the justice of the peace. The camera had focused in on him, his startling blue eyes a brilliant contrast to his tan skin and white shirt. Emma swallowed hard. Flicking through a few more pictures, she stopped when she saw the one she was unconsciously looking for. His visible hand was at her waist and her fingers gripped the lapel of his dark blue suit. The knuckles of her hand blanched where she held on tightly to him, her own body leaning forward to his whilst her head tipped and their lips joined. A sharp, electric shiver rand down her spine. The kiss looked… _hot_. There was no way to deny it. She glanced up. Belle was preoccupied typing something onto her phone. She gave a moment's thanks that her friend was not watching her and was therefore unable to see the red flush which she could feel creeping up her neck.

Blinking a few times, she continued her perusal, wondering just how many pictures they had taken. There were so many from the Cape: they were cuddled up on a bench on the whale watching boat, grinning in a selfie on the beach, cheeks pressed together in the restaurant as they waited to order lunch-

And then one made her pause, one that she had actually forgotten they had taken. It was outside the cottage. She was smiling at the camera, one hand on her hip, Killian next to her with one arm wrapped around shoulder and the other stretched out the take the picture (selfies were mandatory, Belle had said). But Killian was not looking at the camera. He was looking at her, his smile lazy - soft, content breeze had picked up his hair and brushed it over his forehead. Her heart thudded-

"I love that one too," Belle whispered across the table.

"Uh, umm-" Emma stumbled for the right words to describe how she was feeling. She knew he was handsome, she knew the photo was staged- but there was something about the picture and the way he was looking at her that made it feel like she was really seeing him for the first time.

"He sure does take a great picture, lucky guy with that bone structure," Belle went on.

Nodding, Emma blinked a few times and pushed the iPad back across the table. "Yeah, I guess he does," she replied in an almost breathless, wondering way which made Belle raise her brows. Emma shot down the inevitable response she was going to make with a pointed 'not now' look and Belle instead bit on her lip as she slid the tablet back into her back.

"So… I'm going to get prints done this weekend - do you want any?"

For a moment, Emma was confused. "Huh?"

"You know," Belle shrugged, "For authenticity, maybe you should have a picture of you two."

It made sense, she guessed. People married (people who are supposed to be _in love_ ) would have pictures of each other-

"Um," she stumbled, her mind still jumbled and confused by the way he looked at her, "Maybe just email me some?" she suggested, unable to imagine a use for a printed copy in the age of smartphones and digital technology.

"Okay," Belle agreed, as she finished off the last onion ring and glanced at her watch, "I gotta go. Gold has me re-cataloging pre-1800 American literature and it's a royal pain. Until next week?"

"Sure," Emma nodded, "Can't wait."

Emma insisted on paying the bill and watched as her friend wandered back out in the misty, grey weather. Her mind was still fuzzy and she conceded that her meeting with Belle had, if anything, left her more unsettled than before.

/

Thursday meant his freshman class and his biggest headache of the week. The lecture hall was always filled with students. English literature seemed to be a default class for those who had not yet decided on the direction of their educational career post high school and, as such, was oversubscribed.

Worst of all were the gaggle of girls who had started to gather in the front row, arriving earlier than anyone else. He would like to think they were just keen to get a good seat, but he could clearly hear their gossiping and feel their eyes burning his back as he set up. Many men would see it as an ego boost, but Killian knew that he was one of the few professors in the department under the age of 50 and therefore something of a novelty. That said, dealing with teenage crushes was not part of the job that appealed to him in the slightest.

He was setting up his laptop, fixing in the cables and power supply when one of the girls approached. She wore a bright pink tank top and smelled like a Victoria's Secret outlet, fixing him with a wide, overly-white smile as she approached the desk.

"Professor Jones!" she exclaimed brightly - far too brightly for 7.50am.

"Miss Turner," he replied, giving her a small nod before moving his attention to finding his thumb drive in his briefcase.

"You know you can call me Candace," she giggled in response. His head throbbed. It was far to early for this.

Taking a deep breath, he planted his hands on the wide, walnut coloured desk, fixing her with a large, but false, smile, "Candace - how can I help you?"

Her mouth opened, clearly ready to offer a flirtatious response when her eyes flicked down to the desk, "Wait, is that a ring? Did you get married?"

He couldn't help the blush that rose. It wasn't like he was a shy man, by any stretch of the imagination, but he had always tried to keep his private life, well, private. Not that there had been any to speak of in recent years.

A half smile crept over his lips as he replied, "Yes, this weekend."

She span around and screamed at the other girls, "Oh my god! He's married, come see-"

A second later, he was surrounded by half a dozen over-enthusiastic teenage girls who were cooing over his choice of wedding band and begging for details.

 _Who is she?_

 _How did you meet?_

 _How did you propose?_

 _I bet it was romantic… (_ Ha, he'd thought).

 _Where did you get married?_

Raising his hands, he begged for calm. "Ladies, while I am touched by your concern, our lecture will begin in only a few minutes-" he gestured to the now almost-filled seats - "So if you could-" he cocked his head towards their seats and with reluctant sighs they turned away.

He shook his head, looking again at the still unfamiliar ring as they took their places.

"She's so lucky," a petulant Candice sighed as he went back to logging onto the network.

He chuckled softly to himself, amused by the exuberant enthusiasm and optimism of youth. It was a long time since he had felt that free in his emotions - free enough to show how he felt and believe in romance and happy endings. Killian Jones had learned his lesson in such matters long ago.

/

As it turns out, a quiet morning does not a quiet afternoon guarantee.

A contact at the local PD had came through, giving her an address for a bail jumper that she had yet to check. It was his ex-girlfriends place, so it was never a legal address. Posing as a delivery girl (her second favourite guise after 'lost motorist') she had found the perp when he answered the door in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, his round hairy stomach hanging over the waistband. The ensuing chase had led her over a dozen back yards and through a park before she had finally cornered him in a chain-linked fence dead end.

Success in her line of business, however meant paperwork. Lots of paperwork. After handing him over to the precinct, she had spent the next few hours filing in forms and filing paperwork (her least favourite part of the job). When she finally got home, it was after seven. Her body ached and her mind felt fit to burst. So she decided on her go to solution on days like these: drawing a bath and pouring a glass of red wine.

She selected lavender bath oil, delighting a little in the way it foamed and the soft fragrance that laced the air. She knew it would help her sleep. Slipping into her bedroom to grab a towel, she heard the soft 'ding' of an email notification from her phone. It was work. Probably. She should ignore it, she told herself. But curiosity got the better of her and she fished it from her jacket pocket, swiping it open to see an email from Belle. 'Pictures' said the subject. Pausing for a second to slip off her boots, she quickly tapped the icon to download the attachments, impatiently drumming her foot on the floor as the little loading image swirled away. As she waited, she peeled off the rest of her clothes, tugging on her soft terry-cotton robe - just about to give up on the download when she looked again at the screen-

There it was again. The first picture was the last one she had seen int he diner. Killian, looking at her. His strong jaw in profile, his hair slightly askew, his eyes so blue and unfairly framed by thick dark lashes- Swallowing hard, she picked up the picture again. Her heart was hammering. What the hell was wrong with her? It was hardly the first time she had seen the guy! They'd met many times - they'd kissed, they got married for Christ's sake (not that that was real of course)-

So what had changed?

Studying his face - the faint tan on his cheeks and the soft pink colour of his lips - she felt confused. He was a very handsome man. She knew that. And that should not bother her-

Suddenly her mind darted back to a conversation she had had with Belle, many months ago, when her friend was trying to fix her up with any and every single guy she knew.

 _"Emma - he's gorgeous, look!" she cried as she pressed her phone in her face, the smiling blonde in the picture the definition of handsome._

 _"He's okay," she grumbled as she tried to concentrate on her iced latte._

 _"Seriously?" Belle sighed and dropped her phone to the table, "Emma, you need to open your eyes. Walking around with your light off and blinkers on in this city is never going to find you happiness."_

 _She bristled at her friends talk of happiness. Emma had yet to tell her the exact details of her past and her current self-induced singledom - nor was she sure she ever wanted to. "What on Earth does that mean?"_

 _Leaning forward on the coffee shop table, Belle smiled, "People are like cabs. When you're taken, you turn your light off. Other people can tell, they give you a wide berth. But when you're single your light is like a signal, letting the other singles know you are available. And then there's you, who seems yet to have located the 'on' button." Her reply was sassier than the usual Belle speech, so Emma responded with soft grimace. "And you - you have these blinkers on! It's like you can't see men checking you out - nice guys, hot guys. You can't seem to recognise when you find someone attractive anymore-"_

 _'I so can!" Emma retorted, feeling slightly offended. "I can appreciated a handsome man. Like Christ Pratt. Handsome man. I appreciate him."_

 _Belle rolled her eyes, "Actors and celebrities do not count. When was the last time you saw a guy - a guy who makes your heart thud and you pulse quicken and make you feel all gooey inside?"_

 _"Gooey? Is that the word we are going for?"_

 _Belle swatted her with her hand from across the table, "You know what I mean."_

 _Sadly, she did. And even more sadly, she couldn't answer. She wasn't looking and even when a hot guy was right in front of her, it barely raised more than a tiny level of interest (unless she was looking for some company for the night and even that barely happened any more). Her friend was right her light was off. But really, she had no intention of changing that situation any time soon._

Seeing, without really seeing, was one of Belle's oft-mentioned beliefs. On another occasion she had likened it to the difference between imagining the taste of hot chocolate and actually taking a mouthful and feeling the hot liquid swirl around your tongue and down your throat.

Emma stared at Killian, eyes widening a little as she understood what Belle finally meant. For some reason, some unknown goddamn reason, here she was looking at a guy she had seen a hundred times before and seeing him really, clearly for the first time.

His honest blue eyes and oh-so-handsome features made her stomach feel queasy and her head spin, making her lightheaded until she needed to sit.

This was a problem, a huge huge problem.

Emma Swan had huge crush on her husband.

Her fake husband.

 **A/N: Yay, some progress. Kinda. I kept them apart this chapter, but never fear they will be back in the same room again in chapter 8. Thank you again, for all your lovely reviews and messages. They make me grin like an idiot and wish I could just quit my job and write this for you all full time!**


	8. Actors

" Ah, Jones, just the man I was looking for. I was hoping you had not left yet. "

Professor Gold stood in the open doorway of Killian ' s office, resting on his ubiquitous cane. The younger man replied with a nod setting aside the disappointing pile of papers he was attempting to grade. " Well, you found me. "

With a grim smile (it was his usual facial arrangement and therefore not one that Killian could take offence for), the professor took a few steps into the room, glancing around the piles of books and stacks of notebooks with a hint of disdain on his features. Professor Gold was notorious among the faculty - an excellent educator, but not known to have a warm personality amongst his peers. " This morning I heard a rather startling rumor. "

" Oh? " Killian asked, feigning innocence over what he suspected was about to come out of the elder gentleman's mouth.

" It is said that you have recently become betrothed. "

Sucking in a deep breath, Killian stood. " That would be perhaps the first correct piece of gossip floating around this establishment in the past five years. "

Professor Gold pulled his lips a little tighter in reply, the loose skin on his cheeks folding in ripples where in his youth there may have once been dimples. " Ah, so the mystery of your two days' vacation is solved. I am also very impressed at your ability to keep this so quiet. Must have been rather difficult. "

Killian felt himself squirming a little in his brown-leather Oxfords. His superior ' s line of questioning was becoming a little uncomfortable " Well, you know I'm not a man who is big on airing my personal life at work. We decided small and intimate is what we wanted. "

" Hmm, " Gold asked, looking down at him through his nose. Though the older man was a good three inches shorter, he held himself with such authority that he seemed to tower above Killian. " Well, in any case, I am here to extend the invitation to tomorrow ' s faculty dinner to your new wife. "

Killian went to reply but then stopped himself. Gold knew that Killian rarely attended faculty events. They were boring and stuffy and generally he would rather spend an evening having his chest waxed. But the way that Gold was staring at him, a daring, questioning look on his face made him falter. There was more to this than just hospitality. In cases such as these, Killian had learned that the best approach was to confront the matter head on.

" We would be delighted, " he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets and finishing with a closed lipped grin which was intended to end the conversation.

Gold took the hint, dipping his head, " I very much look forward to meeting the woman who has charmed our bachelor professor. " Killian nodded himself, holding his breath until the other man left the office and he sank back into his chair.

He stared at his phone, suddenly realizing that he had agreed to this without consulting Emma. Of course, they had discussed this kind of possibility, in vague terms. Both knew that their marriage had to appear valid to the college as well as the authorities. However, he had the distinct impression that she may be less than impressed by the lack of notice. Scowling a little at the unexpected situation, he picked up the phone and opened his contacts.

/

The warm bubbles had soothed her aching muscles, and her dog-eared copy of _Gone with the Wind_ had managed to make her stop thinking about him for at least an hour.

(Almost. Maybe she had imagined Rhett Butler as a Killian Jones look-a-like, rather than her usual Clarke Gable image).

The combination of a warm and lavender-scented hour long vacation and virtual trip to Civil War Georgia had lessened her anxiety. So, she had a little crush on Killian - so what? That didn ' t need to change anything between them. It certainly _couldn_ ' _t_ affect their arrangement. And she was a mature adult, after all.

Wrapping herself in her robe, she entered her room just in time to hear her phone vibrate. She dived over her bed, picking up the call before it rang out.

" Hi, " she panted breathlessly, not having a chance to see who was calling.

" Emma, it ' s me. "

Her traitorous heart began to race.

" Killian, " she replied, with a higher pitch twinge to her voice that she prayed he didn ' t hear.

" Yeah. Sorry to bother you- "

" No, " she insisted, trying to sound breezy, " No problem at all. What ' s up? "

Trying to focus on what he was saying, rather than his suddenly _very_ appealing accent, she frowned as she listened.

" I have a small favor – well, medium-sized favor - to ask. Work was quick to catch on about my new, um, status and I ' ve just been visited by the head of department, who has invited you to our faculty gathering tomorrow evening. "

Emma started, feeling somewhat irrationally offended, " You didn ' t say anything about a social event. "

Over the line, she heard him sigh, " I never attend them, love. But I think for appearances sake, I will need to make an exception. I apologize for the late notice and I will understand if you cannot attend- "

" No, " she insisted. " I can. It ' s fine. "

He was mumbling his thanks as Emma questioned her sanity. She could have gotten out of it - said she was working, even. But she hadn ' t, and as much as she wanted to deny it - it did have at least a little bit to do with her desire to see him again and see just how she acted: or more accurately to see how she acted _now._

" It ' s fine Killian, really. This was part of the deal, " she went on, impressing herself with her calm manner and composure.

" Great. Really. I have a late class tomorrow, though - the dinner is at the Hilton a few blocks away, you can either meet me here at my office, or at the hotel- "

And then a new burning desire to see where Killian Jones worked arose and her response fell from her lips before she could stop it: " I ' ll meet you at your office. Just text me the details. "

" Wonderful, I will now. Thanks love, and goodnight. "

" G ' night, " she sighed in reply, brushing away the little jump in her chest when he called her love.

/

The click-clack of high heels on the tiled hallway outside his office announced her presence, or at least he presumed it was Emma, as 7:00pm on a Friday night was not the usual time to hear footsteps in the hallway. He logged out of his laptop, saving the notes from his 5pm lecture and picked up his jacket from the back of his chair. When the screen went blank, he checked his tie. He had changed earlier in the without the benefit of a mirror so he hoped that he hadn ' t missed a shirt button. Running his hand over his thankfully regrown beard, he closed down the lid.

There was a knock at the door and he strode over, opening it with a flourish, the greeting on his lips dying as he saw Emma-

Her body was encased in a tight sheath of royal blue material, her hair piled atop her head in a lazy mass of curls that showed the long drop earrings that elongated her neck. She looked stunning. She was always gorgeous, he already knew that, but it seemed that just when he had a fix on her beauty that she bowled him over once again.

Painfully aware that he was probably staring, he stuttered, " Hi, you ' re early. " Instantly he wanted to kick himself in the head at the mundanity of the statement. He should have complimented her, or at least greeted her with a little more grace.

" No traffic, " she replied, giving him a cautious look that was hard to diagnose.

" Do you want to come in? I ' ll just be a moment- "

Well, it was a half-truth. He didn ' t really have anything to attend to in the room but he felt like taking a few minutes to rid himself of the ridiculous nervousness that seemed to have descended was not a bad idea.

Emma stepped inside and he busied himself, tidying up the lecture notes on his desk and placing his flash drive into his desk drawer. He took a few deep breaths, told himself he was just anxious about testing their ability to fake this relationship for the first time.

" So, " she said as he turned back to her, " What do your colleagues know? "

" Not much, " he admitted, " I keep to myself for the most part. "

" We have that in common, " she quipped, meeting his eyes for a brief second until her gaze darted back to his desk. " Is that what I think it is? " she asked, pointing to a small silver frame.

His cheeks flushed anew as he nodded. " Yes, Belle thought I ought to have a picture of my new wife on my desk. She came around with it at lunchtime. "

As she stepped forward to examine the photo he checked his pockets for his keys and wallet. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her study the image. Belle had picked it for him. It was a shot of the two on the boat trip they had taken on their second day on the Cape, standing against the rail on the ship. She had her arms around his waist and head tucked in under his shoulder. Such a regular, yet intimate, couples pose. Perfect, he had thought when she had delivered it earlier.

" It ' s nice, " Emma said finally, her tone oddly flat, returning the frame to his desk and turning to face him, " Belle is full of good ideas. "

" Yes, " he swallowed as he gestured to the door, " Yes she is. "

(And his subconscious may have added _in more ways that she realized_ ).

She took a step to leave, her hips swaying in the tight pencil skirt and he swallowed a groan. "Emma, love?" he croaked.

"Hmm?" she murmured, turning back to him.

"Before I forget to say, you do look stunning tonight."

She smiled in reply, her cheeks turning pink even under her makeup. He mirrored her expression, a little spark of happiness hitting his chest - that smile was for him and for him alone.

/

It was like acting, really. And she was damn good at that. It ' s what had made her successful at her job to begin with. Pretending to be someone else was a key factor in the kind of sting she specialized in.

She shook hands and smiled and made small talk. Portraying herself as just shy enough to justify her desire for a quiet wedding but clinging to Killian ' s arm in a way that she hoped screamed, ' crazy about this man ' . The distraction was welcome. Once she had gotten over the sight of him in his crisp grey suit and baby blue shirt, she had focused on the goal: proving they were madly in love.

And that turned out to be easier than she had ever expected. They ' d walked into the ballroom the faculty had commandeered, hand in hand, a little flutter of excitement in her heart because even if this was fake and pretend, it was an opportunity to dress up and be someone else for an evening and in effect, forget her own shortcomings. Here she was Emma Swan - not _Jones,_ because a professional woman did not necessarily have to change her name - sophisticated, desired, adored and madly in love with the perfect man.

(Whose large, warm hand was wrapped around her own, firm and secure and just _nice._ )

When they found Will and Belle, she felt a trickle of relief go down her spine: she had not realized just how tiring it was, playing the part of the perfect wife. She had hugged her friend as Killian procured them new glasses of champagne. Silently, she was thankful for the extended reception and the free flowing drinks it proffered. Throughout, she found herself clinging to Killian ' s side as if it was the most natural thing in the world- (Absolutely _not_ enjoying how warm and firm his body was and how goddamn nice he smelled because that would be inappropriate and, as she reminded herself many times, this was a professional arrangement-)

Until the gentle timbre of a brass gong filled the air, signaling dinner was served.

"You okay?" he whispered into her ear as they made their way to the dining room. Predictably, she shivered as his words touched her skin.

"Fine," she whispered, swaying closer to him as they walked hand in hand to their table.

He stopped for a second, catching her eye. She was just about to question him on his reason when he suddenly pulled her hand to his lips and pressed a damp kiss against her knuckles. Beneath his lips, her skin prickled, his eyes still joined with hers. It was intimate and sweet and so unexpected she caught her breath-

"Gold is watching," he breathed across the small gap between them, her chest deflating a little now he had explained himself.

"Oh," was all she could think to say, her hand shrinking back from his, trying to school her features so her disappointment was not visible.

/

Questions, so many questions.

They found themselves sitting at a table with the most inquisitive members of the department. Killian was concentrating hard to supply the correct answers from the details he and Emma had constructed some weeks earlier. It was rather exhausting. The time flew by, Emma affirming every detail he shared, and being charm personified as she crept her way into his colleagues good graces.

But it wasn't the Emma he knew who was sitting next to him. Not the one he was beginning to learn about, the one who preferred red wine over white, had read _Gone with the Wind_ more than a dozen times and always seemed to have a question behind each smile. Tonight, she was open and vivacious, no sign of the barriers that hid behind her tough facade. If he had believed that this was her true self finally being revealed, he may have been more comfortable. But instead as the evening progressed, he was beginning to understand that this was yet another layer in the complicated package that was Emma Swan.

As coffee was served, Amelia Clark, the school's office administrator, leaned across the table and fixed him with a devious smile. "I just want to know how you kept her a secret from us all. Bad form, Jones."

Squinting under the scrutiny, he threw Emma a glance just as her eyes slanted towards his.

Clearing his throat, he answered, "I did no such thing. It was merely a whirlwind courtship." Looking again at Emma, he gave her a lopsided smile and slung his arm over her shoulder until they were gently pressed together. "When you know, you know right?"

That declaration was met by a chorus of 'awws' from Amelia and the two colleagues beside her. Emma, for her part, placed her hand over his where it lay on the table, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. They stayed that way for a moment, lingering - pressed together, breathing in synch as the attention of the others moved to other things. At the next table, he saw Belle. She was smiling as she watched the two, a sort of proud look on her face that puzzled him and may have owed itself at least in part to the white wine she was drinking. Why was reading women so hard sometimes?

As Emma loosened her grip on his hand, her fingers drew over his skin, soft and gentle. They drew circles on the back of his hand, trailing over the tiny hairs that peeked out from under his cuff. His own hand began to slip from her shoulder, itself lingering on the exposed skin of her shoulders for far longer than necessary. Heat spread from his chest to his cheeks and groin, the prolonged contact of skin on skin catching his breath. He wanted to look at her, yet he didn't dare, because that would make this moment real and as it was, he could still pretend that this moment was more than it was - a mere performance, a show for those present.

Sliding his hand down her arm, he watched her arch her body from the back of the chair, finally allowing himself to glance to his left, seeing her own eyelids flutter closed, taking a mental picture of the most unguarded he had seen Emma all night.

/

Emma took his hand again as they left the hotel ballroom, the hour approaching midnight, her feet aching and the pins in her hair digging into her scalp. They walked in silence for a moment or two, taking in the city night, thankfully still warm enough that her lack of a coat wasn't an issue.

"Thanks again," he finally said.

They were a block away now, safe enough to take separate cars without arousing suspicions from the dinner's attendees. "It's fine," she insisted with a weak smile, tightening her grip on her purse. "I think we passed our first test."

"And a fine actress you are," he smirked, a teasing glint in his eye that made her blush. "You missed your calling."

 _It wasn't all acting,_ she wanted to say. _Not the holding of hands or the smiles or way she was actually allowed to look at him with the want she had been hiding for who knows how long._

"Yeah, well, I was never really one for organized activities, so drama school was never going to work," she shrugged. Now that the part was over, her confidence had seeped away somewhat. She felt unstable in her shoes and she was sure the tight dress was showing her rounded stomach from eating that bread roll with dinner. A little shyly, she tucked a curl behind her ear that had slipped from her up-do.

"Well perhaps that worked out the best for me," he insisted, stepping a little closer. The street was quiet enough, cars still trudging by but pedestrians small in number.

"I guess I should…" swallowing hard, she gestured towards the street behind her, all the while trying not to get lost in his bottomless blue eyes, ones that swam that night with mirth and tenderness. His shoulders dropped, a small sigh falling from his lips-

She didn't want to leave if she were honest. If things were different or if she were different more honestly, she would be tugging him to a nearby bar to continue their conversation in a more intimate setting. And yet as he nodded his understanding, she couldn't help but fancy she saw a hint of reluctance too pass over his face.

It only took one miraculous minute to secure a cab, too quick for her liking as they stood at the curb, him with his arm out. She rocked a little on her toes, feeling hyper aware of his presence now that they were finally alone and the evening's pretence was over.

Pulling open the cab, she turned to give him a smile goodbye, but before she could do so he was pulling her into a gentle, not too close hug. Like friends parting would do. But as she pressed her cheek against the lapel of his shirt and heard his reiterated whispered 'thanks' he didn't feel like a friend anymore. A friend wouldn't make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end or a ball of heat swell in her stomach.

Peeling her self away and sliding in the cab, she gave quick directions to the driver and lay back on her seat. It was only when she was a few blocks away that she was aware of the lingering scent of his cologne on her skin.

/

Five days later

For once he was home before six on a weekday, in itself a cause for celebration. As he entered his building he checked his mailbox, nothing for him but a letter marked 'E. Swan' which made him smile and noted that he would call her later to let her know. They hadn't spoken since the night of the dinner. He still wondered if he imagined the look they shared as they said their goodbyes. Perhaps it was all part of her act, making him feel like she felt something for him. If she had wanted the evening to continue though, he presumed enough of Emma to think she would be direct enough to say. But he brushed that foolish thought aside with a shake of his head.

Stepping into the stillness of the apartment, he sighed with the relief of being home and in his inner sanctum after ten hours of papers and students and damn IT issues that were never fixed. As he tugged off his coat, he noticed a small white card that seemed to have been pushed under the door.

Expecting some kind of advertisement, he frowned a little - he hated junk mail. But when he turned it over he immediately started. United States Citizenship and Immigration Services was printed at the top in bold, blue letters. Beneath was scribed a message:

 _Sorry to have missed you Mr. and Mrs. Jones. You have been selected for random in-depth processing of the adjustment of status of your visa. Please call the number below to arrange a different time and we can all make this process as simple and painless as possible._

 _Cora Mills_

 _Immigration Affairs Officer_

A dark cloud descended over his mood as he reached for his phone to call Emma . Even though they knew this process wold begin sooner or later. Things had just gotten a lot more serious.

 ** _A/N Thank you for all your lovely messages and reviews! Things are about to 'heat' up for these two! And of course a big thank you to Nickillian/Ztofan for being a wonderful beta and throwing ideas at me when I get stuck!_**


	9. Sharing

Two sets of keys on the little table by the door. Her blood red leather jacket hung quietly next to his grey parka. A pair of toothbrushes mingling in a glass on the bathroom shelf.

All so domestic, so normal, so surreal. She couldn't quite wrap her head around her current situation was she finished unpacking her suitcase.

Change is hard she'd been told as a kid. But for Emma, it really hadn't been. Moving from place to place, new schools, new 'moms' - it had been her kind of normal. In fact, staying in one place for more than a semester or two had made her restless. Different was good. It was safe. Staying too long in one place and getting attached… well, it wasn't good.

But this change, however temporary, made her feel queasy and nervous: her head had ached as she had packed up the first of her things less than an hour after a crisis meeting with Killian. The decision had been swift. Both had known there was always a possibility they would be investigated. Though most visa adjustments like theirs were handled via prearranged interview and form filling, some were sent for further investigation. They'd just kinda glossed over the possibility of that happening, instead just thinking the odds would be in their favour and they could get away with pretty much spirit lives and walk away with exactly what they wanted from the arrangement.

Luck had never been on her side though. But what could she do now, except fold her sweaters and put them in the drawer he had cleared for her and hope that this would not end up with things crumbling down around them.

/

Earlier that day

Turning over the card in her hands, Emma frowned over her cup of coffee.

"Are you okay?" Killian questioned, a nervous lilt to his voice that seemed out of character.

"Yeah," she sighed. A lie, of course, but he didn't need to know that. Looking up, she ignored the jump in her gut when he smiled at her, giving him a shrug and murmuring, "What now?"

"Good question," he began, leaning on his forearms of the small breakfast counter in Emma's apartment. "This changes things somewhat."

"Sure does," Emma quipped, feeling an irrational anger bubble in her blood.

She had known this was a risky thing to do. She had known there would be hoops to jump through and people to fool. She had known all this, yet now as the reality of them being investigated was dawning on her, she couldn't help her rising ire.

Why did everything in her life have to turn out so complicated?

Huffing a little, she pushed away her suddenly unwanted coffee and fixed her attention on a crack in the Formica covering of the breakfast bar, scratching at it with her thumbnail as she tried to think. "One of us needs to move."

"I know," he agreed quietly.

They had talked about this. The fact they needed to appear to be living together - hence the change in her bills and official address. But she had never really expected she would have to share an apartment with him. Not really.

"If we don't, then we may as well just give up now. Fuck," she groaned, feeling the first dawning of a headache rise.

"I know," he repeated, "I'm sorry."

Emma looked up. Killian's face was full of worry and concern, like he had done something wrong.

"You have nothing to apologize for. This is just bad luck."

(Which was half true: she did have an irrational urge to blame him for the situation, one that was quickly soothed by his caring blue eyes and somber manner.)

"But you wouldn't be in this situation, being forced to live with a stranger, if it wasn't for me."

She met him eye to eye. "You're not a stranger," she insisted, "And I entered into this fully aware of the possible consequences. No one ever makes me do something I don't want to."

"So I gather," he smiled, eyes finally softening from their concerned state into a more relaxed shape. "Well, maybe we can make the best of it? You could more room at my place- or I could move here-"

Warily, Emma looked around her sublet. It was small, the kitchen spilling out into the tiny living room, the bathroom barely big enough for a shower and a bedroom were her knees bumped against the chest of drawers when she walked around her bed.

But it was hers. Her place, her sanctuary - something she treasured after a childhood of shared bedrooms and temporariness. Still there was only one rational solution.

"Your place. It's the only way this makes sense. We filed from your address, your apartment is bigger, it's much closer to both our places of work-"

"Emma," he asked, placing his hand on her arm, "Are you sure, I mean-"

She tried not to focus on the way his touch felt: the little sparks where his fingers met her bare arm, the tingle of her blood rushing to the surface-

"I told you, no one makes me do something I don't want to," She replied maybe a bit too firmly, trying again to concentrate on the subject at hand and not his touch, which was becoming so familiar to her it was a bit unnerving. "Let's just hope they can wrap this thing up sooner rather than later, so we end up driving each other crazy."

"Oh, I highly doubt that will happen," he said softly, his eyes steady on hers.

"You haven't lived with me before," she grimaced, just as she remembered how long it had been since she herself had lived with a man.

/

It was good to give her space, he thought. Let her fill the side of the closet and the couple of drawers he had emptied (she only had brought one suitcase, but he knew she'd have more to come in the following days). When he'd left her apartment he had taken a cab home, making a quick go of tidying up - tossing out the week old newspapers and washing the coffee cups that tended to pile up when he was busy at work. He'd pulled out fresh bed linen, changing the sheets on his bed as he reminded himself that they had still not discussed that particular arrangement yet.

Though he knew they had shared a bed before, so it wasn't such a stretch that they should again-

He shut down that thought, his head already aching with the rapid speed that they had put things into action. There had been barely enough time to breathe, let alone think through the decisions they were making.

Walking along the sidewalk with no destination really in mind, he couldn't help but still feel guilty. It was his fault that she was having to do this. He hoped she wouldn't resent him; crossed his fingers that the investigation would go quickly. Having called the number on the card earlier, he had been met with the voicemail of Cora Mills. Her answering message had been brief, her tone curt and clipped, slightly nerve inducing which was a little worrying considering it was only her voice. He rattled of a cheery greeting, inviting her to visit again, explaining both their schedules, before pressing end call and sucking in a deep breath.

Now he walked aimlessly. Giving her space and room to breathe. Ideas and thoughts and worries tumbling like pebbles in his mind, all a jumble as his feet beat a steady rhythm on the sidewalk.

Forgetting her expression when he had given her the card would be difficult though. Shock, confusion, terror: all at once. He could see her recoil, the perhaps tentative closeness that had begun to form in their relationship seemingly slipping away in a flourish of black ink.

He tried not to dwell on dark thoughts. This was something they had considered, though glossed over, in their earlier conversations. He couldn't postulate on the future based on an initial reaction, his only hope was to be positive.

But it would be awkward and strange and hard, he couldn't lie to himself about that. Two such independent souls forced to share a space when they each held onto their privacy so fiercely. Could it end in anything but disaster? Perhaps he could only hope that they may come through this with at least some semblance of a friendship. Because he had to admit, that he was becoming awfully fond of Emma Swan and he knew that her absence in his life would leave a gaping hole.

Passing by the subway steps and a Polish bakery, he sidestepped a couple walking arm in arm, a smiling brunette with neat white teeth and a tall, slim man with hair tucked behind his ears.

Milah, his heart skipped a beat as he watched them walk away, the woman laughing as she shook her head, her curls bouncing with the movement. His chest tightened. She looked so much like her-

He never let himself think of her. Well, that was a lie. He rarely did.

It had been seven years since she has slipped away: suddenly, quietly. Her loss had been quick, unexpected. She was older, but not old. Mature, worldly, wonderful. She had taken his hand and woven him into her life, loving him so seamlessly. Milan had been his everything. His world-

'Til she wasn't there any more.

He had kept only one picture, but hidden away, too painful to look at. Her family had eventually taken all her personal belongings, leaving his flat in London half bare and lifeless: not that he had wanted any of it. Reminders of her were too painful, they crushed his heart like a vice- so he was more than relieved when they arrived at his door with a somber black van and removed her clothes, her books and her favorite little armchair where she would curl up with a book.

Why was he thinking of her now? Why, after so many months without even a dream to haunt him.

The answer was simple enough. Since her death, he had held himself away from women. At first, it was a snap reaction. His sad tale attracted the wrong sort - ones who wanted to 'heal' him, or 'fix' him. That was impossible. A broken heart is a heavy wound and he bore it like a martyr.

Now? Now the idea of being really close to another was so foreign and odd that it didn't bear thinking about it. It was almost traitorous to consider. Yet here he was, thrown together with this woman - Emma.

Continuing on his walk he made himself stop thinking. It really wasn't getting him anywhere. The memory of Milah was merely stirring up more uncertain emotions and he needed to return to the apartment composed and steady.

Above all, this was business. A mutually beneficial arrangement.

Surely, if he kept that frame of mind, everything would (should) work out just fine.

/

Unpacked, she wandered through the apartment to the kitchen. By the door, her empty case sat forlornly, its soft sides slumping into itself, its purpose fulfilled and lacking a home. She reminded herself to ask if this building had basement storage.

The door slammed as she was running the faucet to get a cool glass of water. He entered the small kitchen holding a small paper bag. Giving herself a moment, she filled the glass (acutely aware it was his glass, as with everything there) and took a long drink, the water cooling and soothing.

"Hi."

She slowly turned. He was on the other side of the room, admittedly only six feet away in actuality, but the gulf between them was practically canyon sized at that moment. There was a strange atmosphere between them; one of caution and uncertainty. Like all the moments they had shared learning about each other evaporated the instant Cora Mills came knocking on his door. It was unnerving.

She smiled, small and polite but lacking in honesty. He put the paper bag in his hand down on the countertop. "I got bear claws," he announced, almost like he'd won the damn Nobel Peace Prize. All at once she wanted to (hit) him and hug him.

"You settled in?"

Nodding, she sank back the rest of the glass of water. "One case done. I guess I'll have to get more tomorrow. Pain in the ass with cabs-"

"We could ask Belle? Her car-"

"Yeah, good idea," she mumbled, turning the faucet back on to rinse out the glass.

"You know," he began behind her back, "It may be a good idea for you to bring more than clothing. If this is meant to be our apartment, it should have your touch too."

Emma turned around.

He was still looking nervous, uncomfortable in his own home. God, she didn't want that.

"Good idea," she repeated, this time with more warmth and sincerity, his eyes lighting up a little (which of course made her irrationally pleased because she had done that-).

Killian slipped off his leather coat, Emma watching him, his shirt pulling across his chest, an awkward little silence in the small room. Was this how it was going to be? A weird tension in the air, walking on eggshells, feeling confused and messed up whenever he was in the same room?

"How about I cook?" she announced. Not waiting for him to reply, she opened the fridge, finding eggs, veggies, ham, milk - "Omelette sound good?"

"Sure," he agreed. eyeing her carefully. "But only if I make breakfast?"

He held out his hand and she shook it firmly.

"Deal." Quickly he left, allowing her space to use the kitchen as her own. Things between them seemed surprisingly civil and calm.

Maybe this would be easier than she feared.

/

Neal had always been the cook in their relationship, spending hours whipping up stews and grills- But she had stuck to the tried and tested: omelettes, french toast and a mean spaghetti Bolognese that she had learned when in foster care with an Italian family.

He had always laughed at her attempts to cook and taken over in the kitchen. She used to hate that.

Beating the eggs and heating up oil had made her think unexpectedly of him. In her mind, she had built a barrier up years ago. Behind it, she had buried all memories of Neal Cassidy and their two years together. It was akin to amnesia almost, a blank spot where he had his ghost had taunted and tortured her. She didn't need him. She didn't need to even remember him.

He'd lied, he'd toyed with her emotions, he'd left her so bereft it had taken months for her to even begun to function properly. She wasn't going to let it come crashing down now.

She had to remind herself. Killian wasn't Neal. Killian wasn't her boyfriend. Killian was just a friend.

That had to be her mantra. It was the only way.

After eating, she had cleared up, despite his protestations.

When she reentered the living room, he had fallen asleep. His body slumped to one side on the soft brown sofa (which she had to admit was much nicer than her own). Peaceful and quiet and still as handsome as ever.

A brief, dangerous thought appeared. Why couldn't she have met someone like him first (or hell, actually him)? Why did it have to be a jerk who had ruined everything? The maybe- maybe-

It was too late for maybes.

"Killian," she said, touching him on the shoulder until he jerked away, eyes sleepy and hair mussed up.

(A good look on him, her heart sang).

"Um, you fell asleep. Maybe it's time for bed?"

His eyes widened a second. They had not discussed this particular arrangement. He coughed, straightening up his body, "Um, yeah, so how-"

"I'll take the couch," she shrugged,"It kinda looks comfier than my bed anyway."

Frowning, he shook his head, "No, you should take the bed, really-"

"Killian," she sighed, secretly heartened by his predictable gallantry, "This is the 21st century. I can sleep on a couch."

He looked at her warily, "Tonight, okay. But then maybe we should alternate?"

Emma yawned, suddenly tired herself. "Sure."

"Um-"

He looked adorably awkward as he scratched at his hair. It reminded her of their meeting at the bar all those weeks ago.

"Just give me a few minutes, okay?"

Wordless he nodded as she headed into his bedroom to get changed and freshened up.

/

He hadn't realised how tired he had been after the previous night without sleep.

While she got ready for bed, he went to the small linen cupboard and took out a couple of blankets and a spare pillow, making a makeshift bed on the couch, feeling a little guilty still that she had to sleep in the living room.

She came back after a few minutes, hair pulled back, wearing blue flannel pajamas and fuzzy white slippers.

"Done," she announced.

He nodded to the couch, "I hope that's okay-"

"It's fine. Great, really," she insisted, raising her brows as she walked over to him. "Thank you."

Hesitating over what to do next, he shuffled on his feet.

"Well, I guess I should, you know…"

She shuffled a little closer.

"So, goodnight?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Another quiet moment. He bit his lip, looking over her face. She looked as confused as he did. Should he hug her? Shake her hand-

She fixed the dilemma with a soft kiss on his cheek. Killian gasped softly a hand automatically reaching out to her, before recoiling as he took a step back.

"Okay- 'Night-"

Slipping past her before she replied, he stumbled into his room, skin burning from her small kiss. He stripped quickly to his underwear, not bothering with pajama pants as he fell under the comforter.

He pressed his face into the pillow, not bothering with his usual nighttime ritual of flossing and at least one chapter of the latest novel he had bought.

Instead, trying to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek meant nothing between friends.

 **A/N: So for everyone who wanted it, they had to move in together! Things are about to get a lot more interesting...**

 **Thank you again to everyone who has taken the time to review or leave a message etc. It means everything!**


	10. Home

"Morning Scarlet," Killian drawled as his friend passed over a paper cup of coffee. He barely suppressed a yawn as he pulled off the plastic lid and stirred in a sachet of sweetener.

With a smirk, Will sat on the edge of his friend's desk. "Late night?"

Killian tossed him a withering glance, instead concentrating on preparing his coffee. Over the past week he had taken enough of Will's snark about the change in his living situation. The man lived for winding people up. "Since when do my sleeping patterns concern you?"

Will shrugged, "Mate, that sofa is barely big enough to fit the lass. I'm just lookin' out for ya."

Letting his head roll back, Killian sighed. "It's only every other night. And I can barely expect Emma to share a bed with me. I already feel guilty that she's had to move in."

Scowling, he took a sip of coffee. It was too hot and burned the tip of his tongue.

Will pushed away from the desk and pulled up the small folding chair that Killian kept for students, to sit next to him. "You're being irrational."

Killian looked up and met his eye. "I know. But I can't help it."

"That's because you're a true gent," Will quipped, slapping him firmly on the back. "But really mate, how long is this thing going to take? A few weeks? Months?"

Killian shrugged, "I have no idea. I mean, this is unknown territory. I'm still waiting for this Cora Mills woman to get back in touch. I feel like I'm walking on egg shells right now; she could turn up at any moment."

"And what is she going to think when she finds your 'wife' sleeping on the couch? Or you, for that matter?"

"I know, I know…" Killian sighed. He'd had the same thoughts a few times over the past week. Usually when it was the wee hours of the morning and he was trying to sleep on the couch with his legs doubled up beneath him. "But what can we do? It's strictly business between us, I don't want to blur the lines."

Beside him, Will let out a snort of laughter.

"What?" Killian exclaimed, giving his friend an offended look.

"Mate, I think those lines are already a little fuzzy. Have you seen the way she looks at you?"

Killian's cheeks burned hot. How she looked at him? What the hell did that mean?

"No idea what you're talking about," he snipped, annoyedly grabbing a pile of loose paperwork on his desk and shuffling it into order.

"Well, I guarantee she does."

Will stood, putting the chair back into its spot behind the office door. He went to leave, hesitating for a second with his hand on the door handle. "Just promise me you'll at least talk to her?"

Killian looked over at him. Instead of the usual overconfident smirk, he saw real concern in the other man's eyes. Maybe Belle was actually having a positive influence on him.

"I'll try," he conceded with a small nod as Will left. Even half believing himself that it was the truth.

/

"Is this the last of it?" Belle asked, pushing her hair back from her face as she hauled a box into the bug's backseat.

"Yeah," Emma replied, tossing in a sports bag beside it, "I mean, it's all I'm going to take. Don't want to overload his place with my things."

The two got inside, the doors of the car slamming shut with a hollow, metallic clang. Belle turned the key in the ignition, the engine growling to life with a reluctant grunt.

"So," she began as she pulled away from the curb, "You haven't said much about this new development."

Emma could see Belle trying to catch her eye in the mirror but kept her eyes down, concentrating instead on a small tear in her jeans. "What's there to say?"

"Emma, I know you're not big on talking about your feelings… But this is a weird situation-"

"More weird than marrying a practical stranger?" she snapped, in a barb intended to wound Belle's delicate sensibility. "Sorry," she added, almost immediately.

Pulling up at a stoplight, Belle turned her head to look at her friend, "Emma, if this isn't what you signed up for, you can end it now. Killian will understand-"

"No," Emma sighed, shaking her head, "It's not that. I mean, I've lived in way worse situations before." She watched her friend's eyes widen at the rare mention of her past. "I'm just a little snappy lately. Work's been crazy, and half the week I'm sleeping on a couch, living out of a few drawers-"

"It doesn't feel like home."

Shrugging, Emma gave her friend a thin smile. "I know it's crazy. But when you've spent your whole life craving your own home - your own space. It's hard to give that up. Even temporarily."

The light jumped to green, and Belle shifted the gear stick, the old car jerking into action just before the line of cars behind them could start beeping their horns. "It's not crazy. I totally understand. Have you talked to Killian about it?"

Emma scoffed, frowning a little, "No."

"Well, you should. It's in his interest to make this work too. Maybe you can give his place a few personal touches of your own? And work out the sleeping situation a little better?"

"Like how? I'm not comfortable asking for the bed all to myself, and even buying a pull out couch seems like a stupid expense."

"I'm just trying to help," Belle replied softly.

Emma swallowed, bringing back her urge to get annoyed - she knew Belle was just being a good friend. But she just wasn't used to having good friends, or really any friends at all.

"Maybe I can talk to him, find out if he has any ideas that might help?"

/

She'd left early for work, somehow slipping into the en-suite bathroom from where she had slept on the couch without waking him. The hours she worked were strange and unpredictable at time, a stark contrast to the ordered academic day. She didn't talk about her job very much and although he was curious to ask more about what it involved, he didn't want to risk jarring the gentle balance they had established in the first week of living together. The one thing he had gathered in their acquaintance was that Emma Swan did not like to talk about herself.

It was still only seven am when he slid into the living room, his eyes falling on the neat stack of blankets she had left on the couch. It was a somber sight, one that made him remember that she still felt like a guest, a visitor. That this was not her home.

As he made a cup of tea and turned on the British news channel - his single concessions to his heritage - he mulled over how to improve things for her. Despite his conversation with Will, he had not yet broached the issue of their living arrangement with her. Things between them were friendly enough - they talked briefly about their day (mostly him), they ate together, even watched a little tv on the couch before her small yawns gave him the hint that she wanted to sleep and he retreated into the bedroom.

It wasn't awkward. But it wasn't comfortable.

Sipping his tea, he went back into the living room and sat next to the blankets on the couch. Beside it, he could see the last few boxes that Emma had brought over the day before. Just peeking out was a blanket.

Leaning over, he pulled out the cream wool, it looked hand knitted, worn but well loved. Around the edge there was a purple ribbon blanket stitched and tied in a bow in one corner. Examining it a little closer, he stopped when he saw a word stitched in one corner: Emma. His heart thudded. This was from when she was an infant - when she was abandoned. But someone clearly loved her to take the time to make this blanket, soft and clearly crafted with love.

It was then that he finally started to understand. The tough shell she liked to show the world wasn't because she didn't care - or couldn't. It was an automatic defence mechanism. She had been let down since her very beginnings. He was lucky. He had been loved, wanted; a part of something. Emma's start in life boiled down to a baby blanket and a promise that someone had loved her, but maybe not enough.

Suddenly determined, he looked at his watch. He had an hour before he needed to get to his first class of the day. That was enough time.

Finishing his cup of tea, he set to work.

/

A long, fruitless day of tracking down yet another sleaze ball had left Emma in need of a beer and a night of vegging out on the couch. This would not be a problem if she were staying at her own place. When she had walked to the subway station earlier she had been sorely tempted to take the train in the opposite direction and spend the night in her own apartment. But she knew what would happen if she should do that. Their investigate would clearly choose that time to make an appearance and the whole living together thing would be busted.

She trudged up the stairs to his apartment ( _his_ apartment) legs weary from hours spent wandering along the same stretch of street - where her source had promised her this guy would turn up.

The door was open so she stepped inside, hanging up her coat and dropping her keys on the small table by the door. As she turned to face the inside of the apartment, she paused.

Over the couch, was the tartan picnic blanket she had bought when she first got her apartment. By the window, sat the small pottery lamp that normally lived beside her bed. On the walls she saw some of Killian's artsy photographic shots had been replaced by the abstract canvases that she had picked up in TriBeCa last winter.

She wandered into the kitchen. His coffee and tea jars had been switched for the ones from her apartment, the clock on the wall was the neon, 80s style one she had clung onto since she had found it at a garage sale when she was fifteen.

Back in the living room, she stared in wonderment, spotting more and more little pieces from her apartment. As she gaped, open mouthed Killian stepped out of the bedroom.

"Ah, you're home-"

She nodded slowly, "And you've been busy."

He gestured to the room, "I hope you don't mind…"

"Mind," she began, still a little confused and overwhelmed, "I just - I'm…"

Emma sat down, a little in a daze. Killian joined her on the couch, placing something on the table as he did so.

"I didn't want to overstep my mark. Belle helped - she picked the things from your place, I promise I didn't rifle through your belongings.. I just wanted to make you feel more at home." He pressed his hands on his knees. "I know this is odd. So if I can make it easier, I want to."

Emma bit her lip. Why did she want to cry? Why did she feel that rising pressure in her throat that told her tears were imminent unless she held them back.

It was unexpected, thoughtful, kind. This wasn't how people treated Emma Swan. She wasn't put first or considered. She was the one who had to change and adapt. She was the one who put herself last.

"It's-" she began, taking a deep breath, "Really sweet of you. I like it."

True, Killian's modern, minimal decor was slightly jarred by the addition of Emma's eclectic belongings but somehow it worked. The mismatched colours and styles complimented each other in an unexpected way.

"Does it feel more homely now? Because this is your home, if only for while."

His voice seemed a little nervous and unsure and of course that made her stomach erupt in stupid butterflies because she was always a sucker for shy and sweet (though that usually turned out to be arrogant and misleading).

"It does. Thank you."

Her eyes then fell on the object Killian had placed on the table earlier, it was a glossy wooden frame with a picture of the two of them from the day of the marriage ceremony, hand in hand outside the courthouse. "I hadn't seen this one before…"

"Will took it. Apparently he does have more use than sarcasm and mediocre research skills. Belle thought we ought to have a few of these in the place - in case our friend from the government drops by for tea."

"Yes," she nodded, slowly soaking in all the little changes he had made, imagining what else he would be capable of-

Snapping herself back to reality, she fixed a smile on her face, "Well after all you have done, dinner is on me. How about some Thai food and some Netflix?"

Killian smiled back, a sparkle in his eye as he replied, "You read my mind."

/

Her eyes were fuzzy when she peeled them open. Warm and cozy, she pulled the blanket over her a little tighter, vaguely away of a comforting weight pressing against her left side. Smiling, she glanced at the TV, now playing some random movie from the Netflix playlist. She must have fallen asleep during the last film - what was it? Some British movie Killian loved-

She shifted a little, rubbing her hand over her tired face. There was a gentle groan beside her. It was then she realised that the warm weight pressing against her was Killian Jones. He lay against her, his feet stretched out along the couch, looking so peaceful that she took a moment just to study him.

Her crush hadn't abated in the past week. If anything, it had grown. He was so thoughtful and almost shy around her that hardening her feelings about him was damn near impossible. That said, she had become better at concealing it. She liked to think she was acting pretty naturally. After all, the last thing she wanted was for him to see that she was attracted to him. That would be incredibly awkward.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, Emma was surprised to see it was almost seven am. That nights sleep had been the best she had had in days. Knowing she would have to start getting ready for work soon, she decided to allow herself a few minutes to enjoy the quiet comfort of another person's warmth.

How long had it been since she had done this? Just lay with someone, no expectations? Probably when she was a kid. Being an adult just made everything more complicated. And complicated meant she got scared. And scared Emma, well, she wasn't the nicest person.

But he felt good pressed against her. The comforting weight of him and soothing warmth of his body was delicious and she craved the chance to curl her body into his and soak up his embrace. He seemed like the cuddling type.

"Morning," he whispered as she was mid thought, his voice gravelly and low.

"Hey," she replied quietly, "We fell asleep."

He looked up at her, eyes still narrow with sleep, a lazy smile on his lips. "Well you are a rather comfortable pillow," he teased.

"And you pick boring movies," she retorted, sliding a little down the couch so they were eye to eye.

"Hey!" he cried in mock indignation, "I'll have you know that Guy Ritchie is a genius!"

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed, rolling her eyes, "You Brits have weird taste. With your tea and your scones and weird ass movies-"

"Lass," he warned, sitting up a little, "This is a war you cannot win. If you insist on continuing with this conversation, I shall have to list all the things your little country has inflicted on the world-"

"Little!" she cried.

Not stopping, he held up a hand and began to count on his fingers, "Fast food, The Kardashians, reality tv in general-"

"The war of freaking independence!" she exclaimed, giggling in a way that she hadn't done in years.

"Cheese slices - I mean what is that about?, Slurpees, Twinkies-"

"I love Twinkies!"

"The Bush administration - twice -"

"You can have that," she conceded.

"Gas guzzling SUV's, The Beverly Hill's Chihuahua Movies-"

"Wait!" she panted, placing a hand on his arm, "So if you hate this country why the hell do you wanna live here so badly?"

He looked a little sheepish, "I never used the word hate, love. It has it's appeal."

"Like?" she whispered. And like that the mood flipped. From lighthearted laughter to heavy, thick tension in an instant. She watched him swallow heavily, feeling her head swim like she was dizzy. He was staring at her, even in the dimly lit room his blue eyes were startlingly clear.

"Like…" he whispered.

He was close enough to kiss. God, she'd thought about kissing him a hundred times over the past few weeks. The memory of their ceremony kiss taunting her.

Her heartbeat dropped to a low thud as she found herself leaning into him, parting her lips as he did the same, both in perfect synch, their mouths meeting softly. His lips were as lovely as she remembered, soft but strong, drawing her closer-

A loud knocking on the door broke the moment. They both pulled back in a daze, the kiss lasting no more than a second or two but the confusion on his face clearly mirroring her own.

"Um…" he began, scrambling to his feet, "I'd better-"

Emma nodded, her stomach churning as she realised what they had just done. As he walked to the door, she busied herself folding up the blanket, wondering what the hell she was going to say to him-

"Hello?" she heard Killian say as he pulled open the door to the apartment.

The voice that replied was feminine but cool. She couldn't see the owner of it as she was blocked by the door, but she knew who it was straight away. "Mr Jones? I'm Cora Mills, your immigration liaison."

And with those words, all thoughts of kisses and awkwardness were filed away. It was game time.

 _ **A/N As always thank your for your support and feedback - it means a lot!**_


	11. Questions

With a manner as cool as the burgeoning autumn winds, Cora Mills steps into the apartment, her eyes scanning around every visible surface as Emma straightened out her sweats and stood to greet her. Ms. Mills was wrapped in a tan trench coat, cinched in at the waist and turned up slightly at the collar. Her dark auburn hair was swept up in a polished updo that coordinated perfectly with her immaculate make up and blood red lips.

Emma immediately felt intimidated.

"Good morning, Ma'am, I'm Emma."

"Emma," she repeated, a guarded expression on her face as she held out her hand, "A pleasure to finally meet you."

"And you," Emma lied, a lump of fear in her throat.

"Tea?" Killian asked from the other side of their investigator.

Cora shook her head, "Oh, I must decline. I have an appointment at 8am uptown. I merely wanted to make your acquaintance and to schedule our first meeting. I like to do these things face to face. More personal that way." She smiled cooly, a perfect row of pearly white teeth on show.

"Oh," Emma replied, rubbing at the back of her head with her hand, something she noticed Killian did when he was nervous. "Umm…"

"Anytime," Killian interjected, a pained grin pulling at his cheeks, "Emma and I are very keen to get this process going." As he spoke he had recrossed the living room floor, quickly finding a place at her side, his arm wrapping possessively around her waist.

"Well, that's wonderful, let me see…" while Cora opened up her purse, Killian's hand shifted to hold Emma a little tighter, one single finger finding the bare patch of skin between her pants and sweater. A shiver clenched her spine, their brief kiss of only a few minutes earlier fresh on her mind.

"So," the older woman began, a small tablet computer in her hand. "I actually have a cancellation tomorrow at four. Otherwise, it will be about a two week wait before I can schedule you in."

"Tomorrow's perfect!" Emma chirped, snuggling into the side of Killian's body, in a manner she assumed looked 'in love'. "That's okay, honey?"

Beside her, Killian faltered, hesitating for a second before he seemed to catch himself. "Yes, great. My last class is at two."

"Wonderful, I will pencil you in."

As Cora tapped away, Emma could feel the heat of her body rising to inferno-like temperatures. Surely, beads of nervous sweat would soon start to roll down her face-

"Well, that's settled," Cora announced, returning the tablet to her purse. "Please bring with you all your documents and a list of at least four references I will be able to contact for verification." She stepped forward producing a small, white business card. "This is the address. Try and arrive a little early so my secretary can get you to complete some paperwork."

"Will do," Emma chirped, mentally begging for this moment to be over so she could finally breathe again. She took the business card from the other woman's grasp before Killian led her back to the door. The small piece of card felt heavy and dangerous between her fingers, the simple black typeface giving her a menacing look as she placed it on the table.

/

A breath he did not know he was holding came gushing out as the door clicked closed. Across the room, Emma slumped into a pile on the couch, clearly overtaken by the same affliction he was: relief.

"Shit," Emma panted, her hands coming up to run through her hair. "Holy fuck."

Killian lay back against the door, a relieved smile on his lips. "We did it. She seemed to buy it."

"Yeah, for like five minutes," Emma quipped, unfurling her body against the back of the couch.

"Still…" he began, walking closer to her.

When he was within a few feet of where she sat, he saw her visibly recoil, her legs pulling up underneath herself. He paused mid-step.

That's when the memory hit: as his bare foot hovered an inch above the floor.

Her soft eyes, his heart beat slowing, the magnetic pull of her lips-

 _Bloody hell_ , he thought, feeling his gut tighten. Cora's sudden appearance had briefly made him forget their interrupted kiss. Now though, his lips tingled and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he remembered-

As he hesitated, Emma looked away, her fingers playing with the hem of her sweater.

"It's a start," he finished slowly, frowning at her sudden change in demeanor.

 _What was she thinking? Did she regret it? God, did she blame him-_

There wasn't time to ask, as she was up and heading for the bedroom before he had time to gather his thoughts. "I have an early start, okay if I shower first?"

He could tell she was trying to sound breezy and light, but he already recognized the low, gravelly undercurrent that signaled her mind was preoccupied. He was starting to learn a lot about how Emma Swan ticked.

He didn't have time to reply before she was out of the room, the door closed firmly behind her with a heavy thud. Stumbling to the couch, he sat, the cushions still warm from her presence. There was far too much to process.

They'd kissed. Not for show, not for a photo or to convince someone that this marriage was real-

 _So why?_ Scratching at his light beard he tried to stop himself mentally answering the question. More concerning at this moment was Emma's reaction. As much as he had kissed her, she had kissed him back. Their easy banter and teasing ( _flirting…_ ) drawing them towards each other with an inevitability which made him wonder how he had never seen it before now.

He was left with two questions: what had happened to Emma to make her react this way and, more urgently, how was their kiss going to change things between them?

/

"So…" Belle teased, grinning, "How do you like the apartment?"

"Hmm?" Emma frowned, looking up from her cinnamon topped cocoa.

Widening her eyes, Belle nudged her friend across the table. "You know - the redecoration! I thought it was a really sweet idea."

"Hmm, yeah," Emma mumbled into her mug, still frowning. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"Something wrong?"

Emma curled her shoulders forward, cupping the hot beverage with both hands, pulling it close like a security blanket.

"Emma?"

"I'm fine," she lied, waiting a second before adding, "I'm just tired."

Nodding, Belle gave Emma a suspicious look. Damn, she was persistent. After avoiding close friends for most of her adult life, she had forgotten what it was like to have someone who cared. And was very annoying about it. "And, yeah," she continued, clearing her throat, "It was cool."

Belle was quiet for a moment as the waitress brought over their orders of a grilled cheese for Emma and chicken soup for her.

Emma reached for her sandwich, scowling when the hot bread burned her fingers, quickly blowing on the singed skin.

"And does it feel more like home now?"

Shrugging, Emma mumbled, "I guess," whilst pressing her stinging fingers against the cool silverware on the table in front of her.

Belle took a sip of her soup.

"Well, it is home for a while so I guess you'd better try and settle in."

Emma shrugged again before attempting another bite of her sandwich. She worked quickly, her teeth snipping off a piece and quickly chewing it before the boiling cheese could burn her tongue.

"Emma. I know something is wrong."

Emma lifted her head and gave Belle a pointed look.

"And you know you can tell me anything…"

Taking another bite, Emma chided herself. She should have been more guarded around Belle… She could only blame her crappy morning tracking down yet more fruitless leads. She had far too much on her mind at the moment.

"Fine," she grumbled, "This morning Killian kissed me. Or maybe I kissed him. I'm not exactly sure-"

"Really!?" Belle blurted out, her eyes wide and full of surprise.

"Yeah… I mean it was only for a second, but-"

"That's so exciting!" Belle chirped, dropping her spoon into her soup with a loud plop, "And then what happened, what did he say-"

"Our investigator arrived and that kinda ended the moment. Not that it was a moment exactly…" she insisted, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Belle nodded, smiling gently, "But you enjoyed it?"

A ringing in her ears was the indication that she was beginning to panic. Not a panic attack, she'd never actually had one of those. It was more of a low level buzzing sound accompanied by a heightened heart rate - her body's reaction to uncomfortable situations.

"What does it matter? All that it's done has made things awkward. And with the interview coming up it's the worst goddamn timing-"

"Wait - what does this have to be a bad thing? It's kind of perfect if you think about it-"

"Seriously, Belle?" Emma screeched before quickly lowering her tone as she noticed a few heads in the diner turning their direction. "This is business, and it has to stay that way." She chewed on her lip for a moment, before continuing, "And besides, you know I don't - I mean can't be - we can't be anything more. You know I don't do relationships, so that only leaves the physical between us and letting that happen would be a terrible idea."

Belle opened her mouth to protest but Emma stared her down until the brunette looked away and picked her spoon back up.

"Well then maybe you should talk about it? You know, clear the air?"

"Maybe," Emma grumbled, stuffing another piece of grilled cheese in her mouth and trying to pretend that Belle wasn't right, however much she didn't want to admit that her friend was right on point.

/

As it turned out the kiss had changed nothing. Or at least that was what it would seem to the casual observer.

That evening, Emma returned from work tired but lacking the wide eyed look of panic she had worn earlier. They ate dinner together, quizzing one another on details from the index cards they had earlier prepared, the atmosphere surprisingly light. It was easy to think that maybe he had imagined the kiss.

So he put his earlier worries aside.

But he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering to her lips as she talked, or his hands from remembering the feel of her skin under his fingertips that morning. It was a strange and almost foreign feeling- the wanting, that is. He'd gone through life for so long with blinders on, staring ahead. Not looking. Not seeking. And it wasn't as if he had sought her out. She'd stumbled into his life.

That night he had taken the couch, pushing away her protestations that it was her turn and ordering her into the king sized bed with the memory foam mattress that he had treated himself to on his last birthday. Resting his legs on the end of the couch, he shifted against the too firm seat. If things were different, he may have asked if he could have shared the bed that night. It was big enough. But now it seemed that they were dancing on a dangerous knife edge of attraction that with one push in the wrong direction, could leave their arrangement crashing down around them.

Tired, he tugged the blanket tighter around his body and willed himself to see the end goal of their situation. He gets to stay in the city he loves. She gets to open her own business. They go their separate ways and that will be the end of that.

As he drifted to sleep though, he felt a twinge of sadness that they could never be anything more to each other.

/

Leaving work after yet another frustrating day of dead end leads, Emma raced back to the apartment. Clearly her work uniform of jeans and boots wasn't exactly going to make the right impression on the immaculately groomed Cora Mills.

Frustrated and tired, she tugged item after item out of her space in the closet (trying to ignore the scent of his cologne that seemed to linger inside it). She was tired and grumpy and just wanted this whole day to be over with.

Last night she'd choked. She really had meant to clear the air with Killian. Really. Instead she chose the coward's route and avoided any chance of the topic of their kiss coming up behind a sudden, intense desire to revise every fact she had learned about him. And to be fair, he didn't mention it either.

Going to bed that night had been a relief, not that she slept much.

Instead of dreams, she found herself reliving the kiss. Sometimes - she imagined a different ending. One where Cora didn't turn up, where his hands had slipped under her sweater and he had laid her back against the couch-

She'd snapped awake at that point: she was not going to have sex dreams about Killian Jones.

Finally choosing a blue shirt dress she hadn't worn in years, she left the apartment. She was almost late. It turned out getting a cab from Killian's neighborhood wasn't exactly easy. With minutes to spare, she arrived in Hell's Kitchen, dashing up the steps of the anonymous office building, searching for the elevators and stilling her nerves by counting the clack-clack sounds her heels made as she rushed to the correct office.

Killian was already there (of course) in his usual work attire of shirt and jacket, today both in unfair shades of blue that made his eyes pop and a blush appear on her cheeks before she had even said hello.

It turns out, she didn't even get that chance.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jones," came the clipped tones of Ms. Mills voice from behind them. "Would you like to come in?"

The deep thudding of her heartbeat and sickening twist of her stomach had Emma worrying for a moment that she would pass out. And she had never passed out (or fainted or swooned or whatever you wanted to call it). Today did not seem like a good day to begin. She must have been frozen for a second because the next thing she felt was Killian's hand slipping around hers.

"Let's go, love," he whispered.

Tilting her head, she gave Killian a quick glance, thanking him with a smile. He responded with a squeeze of her fingers. It was strangely reassuring.

Her hesitation forgotten, she followed him into the office.

/

She'd arrived with seconds to spare. He'd worried (briefly) that maybe she wasn't going to show. He knew she was _capable_ of that. But he'd hoped that her predilection to fleeing wouldn't rear its head today.

Breezing in wearing a navy blue shirt dress and tan pumps, she'd seemed startled to see him. There wasn't time for small talk though, as within seconds their investigator appeared and they were heading into her office, hand in hand, admittedly more than a little nervous.

The office was clean and modern (well, as modern as a government organization allows). A few well-tended plants sat on the window sill behind the desk, each surface was clean and neat; polished to a high shine.

"Well," Ms. Mills began as they sat, "As you know, this is preliminary meeting to let you know how things will progress over the coming weeks. Do you have your paperwork?"

Reaching into his satchel - the one Will liked to take the piss out of him for carrying - he pulled out a plain manila folder.

"Wonderful," Cora smiled, "I will get these back to you as soon as possible." Putting the folder to one side, she interlinked her fingers on the desk and fixed the pair with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "So I suppose you are wondering how this process will work. Well, I am here to make this as easy as possible. As part of our random sampling, we have no suspicions as to your status. So please, see this as a simple bureaucratic measure, and with your cooperation things will be concluded as speedily as possible."

He felt a squeeze on his fingers. He hadn't realized he was still holding Emma's hand.

"What happens next?" Emma asked in a small, soft and unfamiliar voice.

"Today, I have a few initial questions. Then I check over your paperwork, make a few enquiries and schedule one or two further interviews depending on my findings."

"That's it?" Killian asked, surprised, expecting more - though he knew not what.

"Well Mr. Jones, we consider this a supportive process. Though, of course, you are subject to the possibility that we may visit your home or places of work at any time."

"Well, that's very reasonable, Miss Mills," Emma said next to him, "We are happy to cooperate in any way."

"Excellent," Cora replied, opening a drawer in her desk, "Well, how about we start with a few questions?"

Killian shifted in his seat, his back straightening.

Cora picked up a pen and clicked the end. In front of her was a sheet of paper with a typed list of questions.

"So, how did you two meet?"

They both looked at each other. Emma bit her lip, invisibly signaling that he should take this.

"Mutual friends set us up. Emma's friend Belle works at the University library and is dating a friend of mine. And the two of them like to play matchmaker."

"Hmm," Cora replied, scribbling down a few notes. "So what was the occasion when you physically met each other?"

Emma leant forward, clearly ready to take this one. "Well, it was Belle's birthday and she had a gathering at her apartment."

"And Will - her partner - was insistent that I meet this girl called Emma. Said we would get along very well."

And that was actually true. Before the party Will had told him about Emma. Had said she was just his type (though how Will could know his type was beyond him). And he had reminded the Yorkshireman that he didn't date - and the idea of a one night affair with a friend of Belle's seemed like a bad idea.

"And how did that go?" Cora continued.

Killian fidgeted uncomfortably. Should he be honest, or-

"Well, I was drunk-" Emma blurted out with a tiny laugh, "So let's just say romance didn't blossom quite that night. But I did notice him. We talked - briefly - but I'd drank too much tequila and was a little concerned that I would throw up on his shoes so I kinda hid from him-"

"You never told me that?" he said, surprised at her confession before kicking himself as he remembered its context-

Emma looked his way, shrugging a little. At some point she had released his hand without him realizing. She tucked her hands around her sides. "You were gorgeous and I didn't want you to think I was an idiot."

"I could never think that, Emma," he replied automatically.

She smiled. Little and warm - the kind that made him feel happy and content and-

"And I take it a date was arranged in some other way?"

Killian pulled his eyes away from her, "Yes, Belle worked her magic and this wonderful woman agreed to meet me for a drink. I too, had been all too aware of her presence at the party and though she tried to avoid me-" he gave her a quick wink- "We did exchange enough words for me to know I wanted to know more."

Cora's pen scratched against the paper for a few seconds. Killian swallowed heavily.

"So - how did you decide to get married?"

"Well…" Emma began.

"I couldn't imagine life without her. We've both been in relationships before - long ones - and never have I felt for anyone else what I feel for Emma. I'd say it was only weeks before I knew I couldn't spend my life without her."

Emma reached and grasped his hand again.  
"Perhaps people will call us rash and foolish - but when you know, you know."

"And your families reaction to your short courtship?"

"Well, you see that's something Killian and I have in common," Emma sighed, "Neither of us have any close family to speak of. Well, except each other."

Killian reached across and wrapped his free arm around her shoulder. Damn, they were doing a good job if he did say so himself.

"And your friends?"

"Thrilled," Killian quipped with a chuckle, "I was the definition of confirmed bachelor and they saw it was some kind of victory that they had introduced me to the woman of my dreams."

Emma's head nestled against his shoulder as she spoke. She'd slid her chair a little closer to his.

Scratch scratch scratch. He waited for Ms. Mills to stop writing.

"Well," she finally said, placing her pen down, "I think that's it for the preliminary questions. I'll need to spend at least a couple of weeks checking your paperwork and then I'll be in touch with the next step - though, remember, an inspection visit can happen at any time."

"Of course," Emma quipped, sitting up in her seat."We look forward to hearing from you soon, Ms. Mills. Be sure to contact me if you need any further information."

Pushing back her chair, Cora stood. "I will be certain to do that. Mr. Jones, Mrs. Jones, thank you very much for your time."

And with a curt hand shake, they were leaving the office.

/

They standing on the sidewalk only a few minutes later. The stiffness that Emma had held in her shoulder throughout the meeting dissolved in a peal of light laughter. "That was…"

"Not so bad!" Killian finished, reaching to hail a cab. "I think we nailed it."

"Yeah, we did didn't we?"

The sun was just peeking out from the late afternoon cloud. Emma looked at Killian as he scanned the road for the yellow livery of the city's famous cabs. They'd survived the first hurdle. It had been surprisingly easy. The stories they told flowed easily from her lips - simple modifications of the facts.

She'd never tell him, of course, that she was attracted to him from the start. Just like she'd never reveal the attraction had now grown to the point of being at times distracting.

(Like now, when the sun shone and highlighted his handsome profile and kind smile-)

He too had done well- how he talked about her! Damn, she could almost imagine it was true and that this was real…

But that was never going to happen she reminded herself as they finally found a cab.

She'd be lying if that didn't hurt just a little.

 **A/N: Thank you again for all your feedback! It really means the world to me!**

 **Lots more exciting things to come, thank you for reading!**


	12. Truth

**HUGE thanks to lizzyc807shipscaptainswan and charmingturkeysandwich on Tumblr for their invaluable help with this chapter and of course to my wonderful beta Nickillian/Ztofan.**

That night after the interview they'd been on something of a high. Will and Belle came over and they toasted their minor success with glasses of wine and Belle's homemade cheesecake.

Things had felt… easy.

As they'd chatted with their friends, she'd taken the time to watch him. Little snippets of their conversation with Cora floated around in her head as he laughed with Will and played the gracious host. Once more it would have been so easy to pretend that this was real between them. The line between play acting and reality was becoming increasingly blurry, the more their lives intertwined.

It was with some relief that the evening ended and she retired to her shift on the couch. Maybe sleep would clear her mind.

/

 _It was nighttime. Or at least, it was dark enough to be night; just a murky purple haze outside._

 _The building was unfamiliar, with anonymous beige corridors that seemed to stretch on for miles. Panic. Panic rose. She needed to find him. She knew he was here. Somewhere near…_ _If only she could find him._

 _Searching, searching…_ _over and over. She found an elevator, but didn't know what floor to take. She hesitated too long and suddenly it was moving. It rocketed her up into the heavens - the building taller than any she had ever seen-until suddenly the walls of the elevator turned to glass and she was frozen in fear. Heights had always scared her._

 _He must be here. He promised he would be. He promised her. If he loved her, he would keep that promise, wouldn't he?_

 _And then, somehow, she was in a garden somewhere. It's was a party - paper lanterns hung from the trees and the sounds of a nearby band are suddenly apparent. She's still looking and searching and-_

 _But then he_ was t _here, standing nonchalantly not six feet away, and she was happy. God, she' was happy. She itched to talk to him, have him reassure her because she was upset and nervous and just felt something was wrong._

 _But they were not alone, and though she just wanted him to comfort her, he's more concerned with those faceless strangers who swarmed around them. He laughed and joked with them as she vied for his attention. He steadfastly ignored her. And her heartache grew with each passing second and the panic rose again and it's all wrong and all she wanted is for him to notice her and-_

She woke up drenched in sweat. Her hair was stuck to her forehead. Her heart was racing. She reached for the glass of water she always kept by her bedside.

Why had the dreams came back? Why now? She hadn't had one for months.

The water was lukewarm but she still gulped it down hungrily. The panic soon faded and she settled back against the pillows, bathed in the blue-grey light of the early morning. Wiping her damp mouth with the back of her hand, she tried to will away the sensation of helplessness that always pervaded after he taunted her in her dreams. Was it not enough that he had shattered her heart once, but that he had to repeat the process time and time again in a series of nightmares? _Always the same._ Time and time again. Abandoning her. Ignoring her. Just not wanting her any more.

She placed the glass back on the table in front of the couch.

This dream was a stark reminder of the past and what she could never have because of it. Mostly because of him.

 _Neal._

/

As if nightmares about her ex weren't bad enough, Emma was still unable to track down the bail jumper who had been evading her for over a week. Normally, a case didn't bother her so much. She'd place it on the back burner and monitor it while she pursued more active leads. But for some reason she just couldn't let this one go.

It was nothing unusual - a guy up on minor drugs charges, facing maybe six months if he was lucky. Yet it irked her so much that he was giving her the runaround that after grabbing a coffee and checking her email in her office, she hopped straight back on the subway to Queens to check out his old neighborhood.

Her favorite aspect of the job was following leads and investigating suspects. Sometimes she wondered if she would have made a good cop, but usually that thought disappeared as soon as the words 'juvenile record' appeared in her conscious.

That day, as it turned out, she got lucky.

After pressing the bells of six different apartments she was finally let in to the apartment block where one Scott Mason used to live, by an elderly woman in the apartment next to his who insisted on making Emma a cup of tea while she waited for her 'friend'. An elderly neighbor who coincidentally received a piece of forwarded mail in her mailbox for Mr. Mason - which Emma of course promised to give to her friend as soon as she saw him. A piece of mail which gave him up to another address - in Philadelphia.

/

The first time she had been hit - really hit - it had been excruciating. The blinding white pain, the sound of bones pounding against each other and the headache, _damn_ , the headache.

So many times she'd been told a woman shouldn't work in bail bonds. _You're too delicate, too weak, too feeble…_ well she'd shot that down straight away, heading into the office the day after with a proudly shining black eye and a split lip a boxer would be proud of. No one told Emma Swan what she could or couldn't do, and she sure as hell didn't need protecting from her own decisions.

That said, the cracked nose, throbbing ear and grazed knuckles she was currently sporting were a none too pleasant reminder of just how intense her job could get. But she'd done it. The jumper she had been trailing for almost two weeks was now in custody, and the satisfaction of success was in some way able to ease the ache. That, and liquor.

It was late on Friday night by the time she reached the apartment: almost nine o'clock and no sign of Killian. She breathed a sigh of relief as she left her travel bag beside the door and headed for the small liquor stash that was kept below the kitchen sink. She needed to unwind a little and him being around… well, that would complicate things.

Actually she had almost considered just heading straight back to her own place, pretending she had been gone a night longer that she really had. But his place was closer in a cab and she was tired… and, if she were honest, she missed him. Just a little.

Emma hummed to herself as she slipped off her boots and jacket and located one of the heavy-bottomed shot glasses she had brought with her. She was happy. If only for a moment, if only for this one night-

This job was the only thing that she felt truly good at. Being a success at something meant that _she_ was something. That she _meant_ something. It gave her purpose and motivation, which she had been sorely lacking for most of her life.

Unscrewing the lid from the tequila bottle, she winced at the pain in her hand. She should probably ice it. It had been a good six hours since she had used it to sock the jumper in the chin (after he had got a few lucky swipes at her). The skin was already swollen and turning purplish, but maybe if she acted now she would at least be able to use it in the morning.

One shot glass, the tequila bottle and a bag of tortilla chips in her hand, she settled herself on the couch, pulling up Netflix on the TV screen. It was still logged into Killian's account, so she browsed his list and stopped on one of those British gangster movies he was always wanting to watch. It wasn't like she would be paying much attention to it anyway.

Silently, she poured the tequila. The first shot was overly tart and she winced before popping a tortilla chip in her mouth to take the taste away. But the second, third and fourth ones were much more palatable and the pleasant buzz they gave her was more than enough to make her lie back and forget about her aching wounds, numbly watching the television.

/

It wasn't a surprise on the first day that she was not home when he returned that night from another late day of student conferences and grading papers. The hours she worked were a mystery to him, even now. But the note attached to the refrigerator was unexpected: she had gone away to chase a lead, 'for a few days'.

Still, he had hoped for a call or a text to let him know how she was, but all he was met with was a silent phone. Part of him wanted to call her - to make sure she was okay. But something held him back.

He knew she was back before he opened the apartment door. The gap beneath it showed the tell-tale blue light of the television playing. Breathing a sigh of relief, he slipped inside to find her sleeping, half sitting up, her feet stretched along the couch. She was back - and safe. He spent a few silent moments watching her, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction spread through him.

He had missed her. Trying to ignore that fact was fruitless. He had missed her and he was glad she was back.

Placing the small bag of groceries he had brought back into the kitchen, he walked over to the couch, deciding the least he could do was pull a blanket over her and turn off the TV.

The dark apartment was easy to navigate. He picked up the soft blanket from the armchair near the television and began to open it up when the picture from the TV suddenly brightened and he had a clear view of her face, just for a second.

'What the hell-" he muttered, reaching for the small lamp beside the couch. He flinched when he saw her injuries - a blackening eye, swollen nose, a bloody scratch along her cheek. Immediately he feared the worst, placing his hand in front of her face to check she was breathing. When he felt the warm exhalation of a breath he sighed in relief; whatever had happened to her?

His first thought was to tend to her injuries, and on autopilot he walked to the refrigerator and took a handful of ice and wrapped it in a small towel. Perhaps if he put some ice on her bruising now it would be less painful when she woke.

/

The sting of something cold against her skin roused Emma from the stupor she had fallen into. Her breath caught in her throat for a second as her eyes opened and adjusted to the unexpected light. Still a little tipsy from the tequila, she reacted instructively, lashing out, kicking and pushing with her arms-

"Hey, Emma, Emma - it's me."

Panting, she blinked a few more times, his face slowly coming into focus just inches from hers. For a second, her breath caught. Was this a dream? Was this another nightmare… ?

Her heart began to pound as she struggled into full consciousness, until the image sharpened and she saw jet black hair and bright blue eyes- Killian.

"What are you doing?" she asked groggily, trying to collect her thoughts, her body softening a little as it moved from defensive mode.

"Your face…" he began before holding up the towel compress, "I was worried."

"It's nothing," she shrugged with a wave of her hand, "A jumper got a little handsy. It happens." She frowned, the ache from her injuries returning.

A look of concern drew over his features. It was a look that she hadn't been given in a long time… It startled her to her core.

"You need this ice-" he said as he sat, his hand reaching out to touch her bruises. Instantly she pulled back, recoiling from his touch. He sat a little closer to her, running one hand through his hair as he examined her injuries– she winced. Not from pain, but because of the way he was looking at her. Soft, caring, worried… She didn't want him to look at her in that way, not him (not anyone, if she were honest).

She needed him to understand that she could handle herself, like she always had. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone.

"I said I'm fine," she snapped, snatching the tequila bottle from the table and sinking back yet another shot. Did he not realize she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself?

"You don't look fine," he replied sternly, "You need some ice on that bruising, otherwise you're going to have one hell of a shiner in the morning."

"Oh and you're my mother now?" she sneered, feeling her ire rise with the passing seconds.

 _Who did he think he was?_

/

She was hurt and he could't stand it. Everyone around him seemed to suffer. He was tired of seeing the people he cared about in pain.

Yes, he cared about her. More than he wanted to admit. But enough now to hate that familiar tug of pain in his gut as he examined the swollen bridge of her nose and purple skin gathering around her left eye. He eyed the tequila bottle warily. He knew that alcohol was only a temporary way to ease the pain and would lead to an greater ache come the morning.

"You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself," huffed Emma. She was avoiding his gaze, instead holding steadily onto the shot glass in her hands and gazing at the television.

God, she was stubborn. Why couldn't she just accept he wanted to help her?

"Well it seems someone has to look out for you," he replied dryly, the compress in his hand now chilling his own palms.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she snapped, jerking her head to face him.

His face fell, the sharpness of her words tinged with bitterness. Perhaps he was wasting his time.

Not bothering to reply, he simply dropped the bundle of towel and ice on the couch and picked up the half empty tequila bottle and open packet of chips. Resignation hung over his shoulders, slumping them inwards as he got up from the couch and silently walked away.

If that was the way she was going to be, he may as well give her some space. Clearly, his was the last company she desired in that moment.

He unpacked the groceries slowly, half listening to see if she had followed him, letting out a disappointed sigh when he couldn't hear any footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Finding her like that had shook him more than he could have expected. He had had no idea her job could get so physical. He knew from now on he would worry about her.

A breath caught as he folded up the brown paper bag from the groceries. What if she got hurt one day - really hurt? Could he handle that?

Despite his internal denials, he knew the real answer was- _no._

Damn, he didn't want to feel this way. He didn't _want_ to have feelings for her.

/

Why was she suddenly so angry? It had come out of nowhere. The look on his face, his words… the way he seemed insistent on trying to help her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? She didn't want to be angry with him. But he needed to understand that her independence was important to her, and she would fight for it, tooth and nail.

That said, the way he had recoiled away from her had taken her by surprise.

She didn't _want t_ o hurt his feelings.

The empty shot glass was still in her hand. Her fingers tightened on it.

But, of course, he had done exactly what she had expected him to do. What everyone did! He'd ran away; hidden from her when she'd pushed him. In the kitchen she could hear the sound of cupboards banging and paper and plastic containers being shoved around.

Well, if that's the way he wanted to play things, she would go and show him what she was really like and why running away from her would be the best decision he could ever make.

Grabbing the blanket and the empty glass, she stalked towards the kitchen, a scowl on her face and fire in her blood. She needed another drink.

/

He saw her out of the corner of his eye, taking a swipe for the bottle of tequila he had left by the sink. Quickly he grabbed her wrist, feeling a small rush of triumph at the surprise in her eyes, his grip soft but still firm. She took a few hesitant steps closer until she could grasp the neck of the bottle with her fingers tips.

Their eyes met. He saw some remorse hidden in their green depths. But also fear. And fire.

"I don't pity you," he began quietly. "I was just worried. When I saw how badly you were hurt… I guess I got scared."

He held his breath a moment, fearing his honesty would push her away once again. He knew her well enough to understand that feelings were not her strong point (though neither were they his).

"I've had worse. I can take care of myself," she replied sullenly.

"I know you are fully capable of doing that but you aren't alone anymore. Even if our marriage isn't real, we are in this together and I am here, so let me help you."

She looked at him strangely for a moment, before her guarded expression returned.

"Fine - I'll put some ice on my face if you have a drink with me."

Picking up the bottle, she swung it in the air until he nodded. "Give me a moment."

If she was determined to drink, at least he could see that she didn't have to do it alone.

/

A minute or so later he was back with another shot glass.

"You pour, I'll ice," he commanded, his voice firm enough that she decided not to argue with him.

With a grumble, she pulled his glass closer to hers as he leaned in and inspected the damage to her nose. Thankfully, he hadn't seen the scratches on her knuckles yet.

"You're going to have a black eye," he muttered as he rearranged the ice in the towel.

"Won't be the first time - damn!" she cried when the ice was pressed against her flesh. Biting her tongue, she pushed his shot towards him and took the compress from his hand, their fingers momentarily brushing against each other. Small prickles of electricity ran up her spine, making the tiny hairs stand on end.

"So," Killian said tersely as he picked up the glass, "Is this a victory drink or…"

Emma grimaced, " _I drank to drown my sorrows but the damn things learned how to swim._ "

"Kahlo?" he replied, with a raised brow.

Tapping her glass against his, she nudged him to take a drink. "Tequila is a victory drink," she explained as she set the glass back down. "Also, it takes the edge off the pain."

He gave her a quick glance over, which made her feel strangely exposed though she was fully clothed in a sweater and loose jeans. "And do you often need to take the edge off?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged, purposefully looking away from him. "It's part of the job. You have to take risks occasionally."

Killian nursed his shot glass, before filling it up again. "Perhaps I could recommend Tylenol next time, as wonderful as the effects of tequila are."

She let out a small laugh. "Where's the fun in that?" she sighed.

But the truth was, alcohol was also the only thing that made her forget. And sometimes, forgetting was just what she needed.

/

Killian lay back against the sofa, his eyes momentarily turning to the television; a smirk reaching the corner of his lips as he noticed the movie she had been watching. For all her protestations, he thought perhaps he was having an impact on her tastes.

Beside him, he heard her pour yet another shot. Tensing his body, he tried to hold his tongue.

It was not to tell her how to live her life. He was not her… well, anything, in truth. But he couldn't pretend that seeing her in pain didn't bother him - nor that she was so nonchalant about it.

"Hmph," he sighed, rolling the shot glass between his palms.

"What?" she snapped weakly, the base of the glass bottle thudding against the table.

"I know it's none of my business-"

"So stay out of it-"

"-But I didn't realize your line of work was so dangerous." He spoke quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the movie.

"It's not dangerous," she scoffed, pulling a cushion against her, like some kind of barrier. "And I can take care of myself."

"Right," he all but grumbled, shifting uncomfortable in his chair. A part of him knew that he should drop this - that is was none of his business. But the irrational, impulsive side of him was not listening.

"What?" she cried again, "Do you have something else to say to me?"

"Would you listen if I did?" he quipped, grabbing the tequila and taking another quick shot.

Huffing loudly, she pulled her legs beneath her body, physically positioning herself as far away as she could.

"You know, you have people who care about you Emma. You don't have to handle everything alone."

"Oh, you're one to talk. I don't see you getting close to a whole load of people, Killian."

"I have my reasons," he replied.

That was different, he told himself.

She hugged the blanket around herself a bit tighter. "Oh so I'm supposed to just give in but it's ok for you to keep up your pretenses?" Emma grumbled.

"What does that mean?" he snapped, whipping around to face her.

"It means that I get the sense that you're judging me right now, and given that you and I are not exactly dissimilar in our dispositions the phrase 'people in glass houses should not throw stones' comes to mind."

"Oh, aren't we reeling off the quotations today!" he cried, suddenly feeling irrationally angry and annoyed. He knew she was right and that irked him. He'd asked her to let him in and he wouldn't do the same.

She gave him a pointed glare and he pretended to look back at the television.

This wasn't how he wanted to tell her. Hell, he hadn't wanted to tell her at all. That part of his past was something that he had left behind in London but if she was going to give in a little then maybe he needed to as well.

/

The room was quiet except for the low hum of the television, which neither was paying any attention to.

"I- I keep to myself, love, because people die," he said, taking her by surprise.

"What?" she replied, with a small laugh "Congratulations on that astounding revelation. Do you want a prize?" As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them. The alcohol had given her loose lips and a low threshold for what was appropriate.

Seemingly brushing off her tart response, he continued, "I mean around _me_ , people die. Anyone who gets close to me…" he shook his head.

"Your parents?" she asked, her voice low and much softer than her earlier words. He'd not said anymore about his past than what was needed to get through the application process but she knew enough from her own experiences that that particular kind of pain carried with you your whole life.

"Yes…" he sighed, "But there's more than that. My brother - Liam - he was older than me. But he was more than a brother though. We were best friends. So close that you practically and to pry us apart growing up-"

"Killian, you don't have to tell me anything-" she cautioned, worried that this was getting too intimate, too deep-

He glanced at her, flashing a small sad smile, "He died, Emma - drowned actually, when I was away at university. Mum was already gone. So it was just me then. Alone."

Emma's hand found its way to his arm, "I'm sorry…" she whispered.

"But I still had hope, you know? I met a woman, Milah, and she was amazing. Wonderful. And we were a kind of family together. But then one day we were at home making lunch, and she collapsed. An aneurysm. She never woke up."

"Shit Killian," Emma sighed. "I didn't know… I'm sorry…"

" _No one knows_. At least, not here. I just wanted you to understand why I am the way I am," he stared into her, his eyes searching her face. He had just given her an insight into what had made him. Perhaps it was only a snippet, but she knew how much that disclosure meant. They were so alike, after all.

Still, she slowly pulled her hand away from his. It wasn't the same as her situation. Having people die was different from them choosing to leave you. "I get it, I do… b ut Killian, that's just bad luck. Hell, at least you've had people in your life. I've always been alone."

"But you _aren't_ anymore. You have Belle, me…"

"Belle isn't going anywhere, I agree…" her voice trailed away.

Being alone was her thing, her trademark if you will. She bore that label with the ferocity of a martyr. Didn't he get that?

"Neither am I," he insisted.

"Please," she scoffed, "Once this arrangement is done, you'll be gone Killian. And I don't blame you. I'm not the best of company, I'm an awful friend…and look at me." She dipped her head, shame filling her as she suddenly found herself on the verge of tears.

/

He couldn't help but look at her. The alcohol was mingling his thoughts and all he could see were her beautiful green eyes. "I am looking at you," he replied softly.

She blinked a few times, eyes wide and perhaps a little glassy from the liquor. But the fieriness was gone, replaced with an empty look of hopelessness. The urge to pull her close overcame him. He just wanted to protect her. To hold her and prove to her that she was more than a tragic past. That she was worth something - to him, in the very least.

"Killian…" she muttered, blinking, lashes fluttering in completely un-Emma like manner. All at once she was that little lost girl he had imagined her to be as a child. So beautiful, yet so fragile. She shouldn't have to carry the burdens of her past alone.

/

He was looking at her in an indescribable manner. She felt even more bare, but this time bare of soul. She was trying to tell him all the reasons why she was the girl who was always left behind. He was responding with an expression that told her no matter what she said, he wouldn't believe her.

/

It felt completely natural to lean forward and kiss her. It seemed like the only way to get through to her. Words seem to deflect from her hard shell, but with a kiss he could feel her barriers lowering. Her body slowly uncurled, pulling him closer, curving into him.

Kissing Emma was so different than talking to her. Her responses were so much softer and lighter, the delicate passion in her lips was so at odds with the often fierceness of her words.

Of course, they had kissed before, but this was different. There was no pulling away after a few moments. No restraint. Just an expression of something he couldn't quite put in words from one mouth to another.

"What are we doing?" she whispered against his neck, her fingers curling in his shirt.

"Communicating," he replied, with a smile against her lips.

"Is this a good idea?"

"Perhaps not," he admitted, his wandering mouth reaching her neck. She stretched her back like a cat as he made his way along her jaw, so eager to explore more of her. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, pausing at her earlobe.

"No," she sighed, "No I don't."

 **This chapter was so hard to write for some reason. No matter what I did I couldn't seem to make it work... so this is the best result I could get, I hope you enjoyed it. And the next chapter is probably what a lot of you are waiting for!**

 **If you can, a review is so appreciated. I write for the enjoyment, but it is your reviews that make this process really pleasurable!**


	13. Wordless

**A/N: First, thank you for all the lovely feedback for the last chapter. Secondly, I wanted to allay some of the fears expressed about Emma being drunk. She did have four tequila shots in a row (hence why she fell asleep). Killian came home hours later, so they were very much on their way out of her system by then! So, the ones she had when he came home would have less of an impact.**

 **And needless to say, I see Emma as the kind of girl who is used to dealing with hard liquor!**

 **Also, this is an M RATED chapter.**

—-

Impulsiveness had always been one of her flaws. She'd gotten in more trouble than she chose to remember in her younger years with her act first, think later attitude.

And making out with Killian was certainly one of her more impulsive decisions of late.

Not that she wanted to stop.

When his lips had touched hers the buzzing pain in her head quickly disappeared. She was no longer thinking and worrying - instead, she concentrated on the rhythm of his breathing and the pressure of his body against hers. She felt calm; even though her heart was racing. His caress was soothing: his fingers slipping through her hair, a strong hand gripping her hip as his body pressed hers back against the couch.

No, she didn't want to stop.

Stopping would mean talking, thinking…and the moment ending. So as much as denials flashed through her mind screaming ' _stop_ ' ' _wait_ ' ' _think_ ', she shut them down.

When their hips aligned, she felt him hardening against her, the telltale signs of arousal clearly evident though his formal pants. A sharp thrill shot through her body at the sensation. She drew one leg around his thigh, anchoring his body to hers, rocking gently and telling him to continue.

 _This was really happening._

Next, damp kisses found her neck, the feather light touch catching her breath in her throat as she fixed her hands to cup his head, beckoning him to continue his exploration lower.

 _How long had it been since she'd had sex?_ Damn, she didn't even know. So many months had passed since she had even been kissed properly (passionately, with promises of more, that is).

Killian kissed quite exquisitely, telling a story of need against her lips.

It took her by surprise how his hands worked her flesh and fired up her want for him so quickly. Apparently his British restraint may have been merely an illusion. And the lingering crush she had for him was growing all the more serious with every touch.

Then his teeth nipped at the flesh of her breasts as he pulled down the scoop neckline of her shirt. She bit back a groan, holding back her appreciation of his attentions even as her body selfishly soaked up those very sensations. Fear kept her silent, though as the minutes ticked by that silence was harder bought; not quite wanting to let him know what he was doing to her. Not yet, anyway.

"Emma," he mumbled against her skin, "Is this… good?"

Swallowing hard, she replied, "Yes," simultaneously tightening her grip on his hair.

"Do you want to move somewhere more comfortable?" he asked, a hint of a tremble in his voice.

A heart-thudding second passed. She licked her lips and tugged on his hair until their eyes met.

The ball was in her court. She could nip this in the bud, pretend it was all a drunken mistake…

"Bedroom," she panted.

To hell with the consequences.

/

Each kiss was deep and full of more longing, leading his mind astray as his hands wandered. Touching her, feeling her - it was more than he could have imagined. Beneath him she was warm and pliant, with a hint of spice in her kisses and an arch of her back; one that pushed her hips so deliciously against his.

 _"Bedroom."_

His stomach lurched at her command.

The want he'd hidden away - the feelings for her that had swarmed around for months now - were finally being allowed some freedom. And that in itself was scary ( _and exciting_ ) as hell.

Feet hitting the floor, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her to stand, his fingers finding the patch of warm skin between her shirt and sweats. Tugging her against him, he kissed her again, perhaps a little too harshly but by her soft moan, he assumed she didn't mind.

God, she was addictive. Their brief earlier kisses only hinted at how she blossomed when passion took hold.

They stumbled awkwardly toward the bedroom between kisses; sidestepping around the couch as her cool fingers worked his shirt from his pants and then slid beneath the cotton, her nails tracing a delicious trail. His muscles contracted under her touch, tightening and twisting in anticipation.

Somehow they made it to the wall outside the bedroom, the door was closed so one of them had to untangle their hands to open it. But Killian was more concerned with what his hands could do to her clothing, gently pulling at the cotton of her t-shirt until she raised her arms so he could toss it aside.

And damn she was beautiful. All creamy skin and white lace, he took a second just to stare at her, half dumbstruck, half scared-

 _This was really happening._

Before he could express another thought, she was pressing him back against said wall, pushing up on her toes to nip at the scruff-covered skin of his neck.

/

Her tongue ran along his jaw - the twin tastes of bitter cologne and salt lining her mouth as she let her body take what it wanted. Quick fingers worked the buttons of his shirt undone with an ease that was somewhat at odds with the tipsy feeling in her mind and the blood rush that flushed her skin and thudded in her ears.

It was useless denying that she had wanted this since almost the first time they had met. To feel his skin against hers, to know what it felt like to be the object of his attentions… And now that it was happening, part of her knew she ought to stop, but if felt so good-

She already had too many regrets, had spent too long denying herself for fear of the consequences. So now, just this once, she would be brave and foolish at the same time.

Finally, his buttons were undone and she pushed the shirt over his shoulders. She could touch him now more easily, feel the soft hair of his chest under her palms and the lean muscle beneath them.

It felt divine. He was a handsome, beautiful man, and she felt herself drunk again, overwhelmed and intoxicated; not from tequila, but from him.

Suddenly, his hand found the door handle and they tumbled into the bedroom.

/

Catching her mouth in another searing kiss, Killian pulled back, panting. The seconds stretched out between them, both seemingly hesitant. He wanted her to be sure, 'ever the gentleman' Will would chide him.

The small smile that flickered at the edges of her mouth seemed to say what words couldn't - _yes, I want this._

Tumbling, falling, kissing…hands and legs and mouths in a delightful cocktail of sensation that had them clawing at each other's remaining clothing, that desperate search for bare flesh lasting mere moments until she was laid out on the comforter, clad only in her underwear, functional but undeniably sexy white lace items that made his throat constrict.

"You're bloody gorgeous," he said with wonder as he climbed over her body, caging her in.

She didn't reply, but he swore she blushed, tilting her head away from his. Not able to take a compliment. He understood. He understood her very well now in many ways, and the more he learned the more he wanted to know.

Right now, he wanted to know what she liked - where she liked to be touched - hard or soft, what actions would make her cry out, whether she would sigh or scream…

He was just about to engage her in another compliment when he was stopped by her hand snaking into his underwear and cupping him.

/

 _"Fuck,"_ he moaned deliciously. The groan went straight to her gut.

 _They were really doing this._

She used her other hand to pull down his boxer briefs as his fondled her breasts, thumbs rubbing against her erect nipples, sending teasing shocks to her core. She tightened her hand around him - he was hot and heavy in her palm. She could feel herself getting wetter at the prospect of feeling him inside her.

 _Shit, it had been way too long…_

It only took a few more writhing minutes of kisses and touches until they were both bare.

Unashamedly naked, she wrapped herself around him.

If she was less attracted to him, it would have been easier. To play the seductress or nonchalant one (the kind of girl she pretended to be when she found a guy for the night). But all the pent up desire that she had for him was inevitably her downfall.

Cradled between her legs, he licked, teased and pressed the soft skin of her breasts as she rocked beneath him. Sighing and moaning at his attentions, she felt the room begin to spin. His hard length pressed against her stomach, warm and inviting and - damn, she knew there was no going back now.

But once would be enough to rid herself of this need for him, wouldn't it?

/

Tentatively he slid his hand over her stomach, her breath hitching when he reached her dampness. So wet already. He bit his lip in anticipation.

With measured movements, he worked at her clit with his thumb, responding to her soft moans, eventually replacing fingers with mouth and tongue. Her legs splayed wider apart, her breathing quickened.

She tasted both tart and musky, a tantalizing combination which made him yearn to make her come apart for him. He needed see her come - to see her truly stripped of the barriers and worries and the emotional armor she always wore.

Gently, he pressed a finger inside her and she let out a whispered curse. He couldn't resist a slightly smug smile tugging at his mouth. Arching his digit, he searched for the combination of angle and pressure that would be her undoing.

/

"Oh God," Emma panted, hands clawing at the comforter for purchase.

 _Was this a dream? Some crazy, drunken dream?_

The strong spike of pleasure that hit as he worked a second finger inside her assured her this was not the case.

"Relax, love," he muttered, drifting cool air over her dampness, pressing his palm down on her hip to anchor her in place.

And biting down on her lip and throwing an arm over her face, she tried to do just that.

And although it was no dream, she found herself spiraling upwards: higher, higher, higher…

/

When she came, her heels dug into his back and her fingers wove their way into his hair- he continued working her through it, feeling her flex around his fingers. Her soft cry was everything he hoped to hear, the perfect sign he'd satisfied her.

He licked his lips as he pulled away, a sense of satisfaction radiating through him, almost making him forget how painfully hard he was. Moving aside, he listened to her heavy breathing as he lay on his back watching shadows from the lights outside dance across the ceiling.

 _No going back now,_ he thought.

Though exactly what that meant, he wasn't sure.

He was just about to turn and say something to her (something, anything to avoid an awkward moment) when her hands were on him, quickly followed by her mouth - _Christ -_ her hot mouth…

Words escaped him as she began to devour his erection, her hair brushing over his chest, her soft thighs sliding over his-

God, it felt good. _Incredible_. She seemed to know instantly how to make him crumble. They were so in bloody sync he wanted to kick himself. He'd been in denial about their attraction since the moment he had met her.

And now part of him wanted to halt her – tell her slow down at least, because he wasn't going to last long and he wanted to savor this unexpected moment. Because he knew Emma and he knew that whatever happened next would be up to her-

/

"Killian…" she whispered, "Condom…?"

His flushed face rose, hair delightfully disheveled.

"Shit," he muttered, scowling. "Fuck. I don't have any."

"Oh," she sighed, shivering in disappointment. "Well, um-"

Disappointment crashed around her. Still on a high from her orgasm, all she wanted now was more. She was greedy and hungry for him. Her body ached to feel him moving above her, filling her- she knew it would be incredible. She just knew.

Before he could say any more, she needed to take control of the situation, to avoid a conversation about what they were doing- she reached for him again.

"You don't - you don't have to, love-" he panted, she could see he was straining against his arousal.

Licking her lips, she smiled shyly, "I want to," she insisted.

And she wasn't lying.

/

The light in the bathroom was harsh and she winced as it flickered into life. Avoiding her reflection, she picked up a washcloth and dampened it under the warm tap, pressing it against her stained skin as she tried to gather her thoughts. It had only taken mere minutes of her hands and mouth until he came, crying her name, cradling his body as he shuddered through his release. It had been surprisingly intimate and caring, not like the one night guys she was used to.

She shivered.

 _How had that just happened?_ She tried to trace the series of events of the evening, but she was too tired and her bruised skin had begun to ache again.

And now things would be complicated, wouldn't they?

Tormented by her inner thoughts, she spared a glance at herself in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her cheeks pink and expression thoroughly relaxed.

It had been good. Shit, it had been _really_ good. He was indeed talented with his mouth and his hands and she couldn't help but imagine how truly being with him would feel. But she shook that thought away. Whatever had happened just then had to be a one off.

 _It just had to be._

Suddenly, she felt incredibly naked and vulnerable. Whereas moments earlier she had been brave and seductive, now she felt weak and foolish. Scanning the room, she saw one of Killian's flannel shirts sitting on top of the laundry hamper. Picking it up, she pulled it on, thankful for the coverage it provided as she fastened the small buttons.

Sucking in a deep breath, she prepared herself to face him again.

But as she turned to the door she caught a whiff of his cologne on the shirt collar and she couldn't help but tremble.

Her feelings for him were growing and she knew she was powerless to stop it.

/

When she slipped away to clean herself up, Killian let out a sigh. His cheeks puffed out as he tried to calm his racing heart.

Now that the haze of lust had started to recede, worry set in. Worry they had made things more complicated. Worry that now things would be awkward. Worry that she would pull away.

But he didn't regret what had happened.

She was a beautiful, amazing woman and it seemed like no one had ever told her - or shown her - in a long time. Or perhaps ever.

The door opened and she smiled shyly. She'd slipped into one of his flannel shirts that he had left in the bathroom. The sight of her in his clothing made a lump form in his throat. She looked so delicate and soft - the opposite of the persona she normally presented.

And he also couldn't deny that she looked beautiful. As she always did.

"Come here, love," he motioned to the space next to him on the bed. For a second she hesitated, looking towards the door. It was like he could see the barriers that had slipped by in the past hour suddenly shooting back up. "Please?" he asked. Not pleading, not desperate… just hopeful.

He just wanted to hold her, if only for tonight, to just play pretend that things were different and both of them were more perfect, undamaged versions of themselves -

If only temporarily.

/

Slipping under the covers, she tried to relax. She was too tired to protest his invitation to return to the bed. She needed to sleep and rest, it would be the best way to help her injuries heal. And to let her mind wrap itself around that evening.

Silently, his arm slipped around her and pulled her to him. He was warm and comforting and it had been so long since a man had held her that she didn't bother trying to resist, instead she snuggled into him. He was warm and firm and _safe_.

Fingers splayed over his chest, she softly whispered, "I'm sorry."

"For…?"

"For…for the way I spoke to you earlier. For pushing you away. It's just the way I react."

Killian turned so they were face to face.

"I get it," he replied, his fingertips trailing over the collar of his shirt. "I do the same thing."

She smiled, relaxing just a little. Her mind clear of alcohol and lust, she felt almost content in his arms. A feeling that was very unfamiliar.

And now she felt the least he deserved was an explanation.

"Do you miss her?" she asked.

He met her eyes and a look of understanding came over him, "Yes, sometimes," he admitted.

Emma sighed and looked away from him, "I was with a guy, a long time ago. He wasn't so great to me. But I still miss him sometimes too. Dumb, huh?"

"He was your first love?"

"I don't even know if he was. I think it wasn't really love. I guess I just liked the idea of someone loving me and me loving them back." And that was the first time she had ever admitted that out loud - something she had feared for a long time.

"What's made you feel like this?"

She shrugged, "Getting older? Reflecting on things? I'm not sure."

"Maybe you give your younger self too little credit," he smiled.

Emma shook her head, "I don't think he loved me though. How could he?" _I'm not loveable_ was what she wanted to add.

Killian's blue eyes began to crinkle softly at the edges. "Not defending this bloke, but sometimes people hurt the ones they care most about. Somehow it can be easier than facing up to the consequences of their actions."

Mulling that over for a second, she interlaced her fingers over her chest. It had been so long that she had almost forgotten the pain. Almost. Now she could only really remember that it _had_ hurt and that she had promised herself never to feel that way again.

"When things ended with Neal - that was his name - my heart didn't just break, it shattered. And into so many pieces that even now I wonder how I ever put them back together," she took a deep breath, the every present ache in her chest from his betrayal suddenly more apparent, "Ever since then, I've known- _known_ \- that if I were ever to let someone in again, to trust someone with my emotions… that the next time my heart broke, I wouldn't survive it." She took a deep breath, "That's why I am this way."

His hand rested on top of hers and squeezed it gently. She liked his touch, it was soothing.

"You know when Milah died, I think part of me died too - the part that was able to love. A person can only take so much, right? I guess what I'm trying to say is, I understand."

Emma couldn't help but chuckle wryly. "Well, that makes us quite the pair then…"

They both were quiet for a few moments, enough to hear the sounds of traffic in the distance outside.

"Emma, do you regret this…"

She hesitated the barest second. "No. I don't."

He let out a sigh of evident relief and she couldn't help but smile.

"Good… So where does that leave… _us_."

The question she had been dreading. She had been hoping, in fact, that this conversation could wait until the morning, or the next day… _or never._

"I don't know…" she began, feeling herself start to ramble, "but, it can't be more than this… I mean, I value your friendship…and-"

"Me too," he interjected, "I'm just not ready for anything more in my life - probably never will be."

Relief flooded through her.

And disappointment. Cold disappointment.

"Okay… good… so… um…"

"Maybe we can at least forgo with couch surfing for now, since this bed is perfectly big enough for two?" he suggested.

"Deal," she agreed, nodding gently. She nestled a little closer to him, drinking in his warmth. "I think I need to sleep," she sighed with a fake yawn.

Painfully aware that they hadn't really discussed what had happened at all.

/

"Alright love, goodnight," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple.

He enjoyed having her laying with him like this.

But it didn't help what was happening inside him - the memory of the panic in her voice when he tried to broach what had happened, the visible barriers that rose-

He should have known. He knew her. He knew how she would react-

So he'd lied. Said he would never be ready to open his life - and his heart - again.

Because the thing was, as Emma Swan lay in his arms that night, he began to realize that she was perhaps the perfect antidote to the malady that had afflicted him since Milah died: making his broken heart feel…not quite as broken.

But could he be the same to her?

 **/**

 **As always, thank you so much for your reviews and messages - they mean SO much to me xoxo**


	14. Temptation

" Shit! "

Killian ' s eyes sprung open, instantly squinting at the unexpected noise from the living room.

" Goddammit! "

Yawning and rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands, he swung his legs onto the bedroom floor and made to stand. Tiredness made every movement heavy and sluggish, his mind still in the midst of sleep and dreams. Waking up was a reluctant process, especially recently. Asleep, everything was so much damn simpler.

Two days had passed since Emma had returned from her assignment. Two days of tactfully avoiding any further discussion of what had passed between them that evening. Two nights of sharing a bed. Over 48 hours of wanting … what, he wasn ' t sure exactly.

To talk, yes. Certainly to go over those words they had exchanged in the darkness of the bedroom when lust had faded and naked intimacy was all that remained. An intimacy that had faded almost as quickly as it emerged.

Oh, and to touch her again. To place his hands on her bare skin, to pull her close and breathe her in … He had not quite appreciated just how addictive Emma Swan could be, though now he knew he craved more of her.

But Killian Jones was not a risk taker. Certainly not one to gamble with chance, especially when he knew the odds were stacked against him. He knew Emma well enough to understand her behavior. The way she seemed to tense a little more when he was near her. The overly breezy conversation that had passed between them over the last couple of days. Not to mention, the fact that she seemed determined to spend as little time in his presence as possible. To press matters further could only lead to problems, and given their current arrangement, that was something neither could afford.

And it wasn ' t really like anything could come of their brief liaison. As much as she soothed the ache in his heart that he had begun to forget he carried with him… she just wasn't ready.

Emma seemed determined as possible to avoid any further chance of those past moments being recounted. Therefore, it was no surprise to him that once again she seemed to be in the process of leaving the apartment before he had even woken.

Drowsily, he pulled open the door to the living room and was confronted with the sight of Emma tearing apart the sofa, tossing cushions and pillows around while cursing under her breath.

" Problem, love? " he gently teased, resisting the urge to laugh at her scowling face when she turned to face him and trying to ignore the way her lips parted in surprise, no doubt at his appearance, remembering just then he was briefly dressed in just his underwear.

He watched her let out a deep breath. " I lost my key. "

(And if her eyes flickered over his form, who was he to deny himself a small measure of satisfaction?)

" And that warranted tearing apart the apartment? " He grinned, enjoying catching her off guard. Enjoying seeing her more natural that he had in days.

She smiled thinly. " The door was locked and I didn ' t want to disturb you to ask for yours …"

" Ah, " he nodded, " Well, since I ' m already awake, I can open it for you . Early meeting? "

" Something like that …" she muttered, while staring at the floor, toying her tongue between her teeth, her hands stuffed in her jean ' s pockets.

Feeling somewhat bold, perhaps from the sleepiness he was still feeling, he took a step closer to her. " If I didn ' t know better, love, I ' d say you were avoiding me. " There was a teasing lilt to his voice, he knew himself he was testing the waters, seeing if perhaps today she would want to talk further about what had happened-

" Please, " she replied with roll of her eyes, simultaneously folding her arms, " I don ' t avoid people. Why would I avoid you, huh? "

A breathless moment passed, where he was almost tempted to say the words that had hung silently between them for more than 48 hours.

" Besides, you know, I have a job. An important one- " She looked him straight in the eye and he saw it for a second, that familiar fear that they both wore so well, " And I ' m late. "

" You go then, I ' ll look for your key. "

"Are y ou sure? " she asked. And for a fraction of a second there was some uncertainty in his mind as to what she was referring. The way her voice shook slightly, that tiny lift at the end-

" Aye love, come on, " he promised, swallowing back the urge to say more.

/

As the door slammed closed with a satisfying thud, Emma quickly picked her way down the aged wooden staircase that led to the lobby of the building. Her low heeled boots made a click-clack sound against the wood-stained steps, one that struggled to keep up with her heartbeat as it ricocheted about in her chest like an out of control rubber ball-

Finally, at the second floor landing, she paused.

" Fuck, " she panted, catching her breath. He ' d really caught her off guard there. She ' d managed to shower, dress and sink back a cup of coffee, all the time sure he was sound asleep. When he had appeared in the doorway, her heart had leapt into her mouth, so unexpected was the sight of him barely dressed and adorably (yes, she was going to use that word) half asleep. It had taken quite the self-control to stop herself ogling him. It was ridiculous.

Emma had been so proud of her efforts to both avoid him and act like nothing had happened between them. Well, apart from the bed sharing decision. She ' d chosen to _remember_ that portion of the evening. But right now she was remembering why she had been so cautious. Her stomach was in knots, her brain barely any better - the yearning need inside her to just be near him, seemingly insistent in maintaining its presence.

She ' d told herself that their dalliance had been a mere blip. Just something she could get over by giving herself time and space. Avoiding the temptation of a repeat performance was all she had to do.

And now? Now she felt like it was hopeless. Just being in the same room as him made her heart beat a little faster. Memories of the way he touched and kissed taunted her. Sleeping in the same bed as him was a sweet kind of torture; his warm and closeness so tormenting as she clung to her side of the bed. Though she had made sure to turn in long after him and wake at least an hour earlier than needed.

It was clearly insane. But it had been two nights now and she didn ' t want to stop sleeping beside him.

And it was increasingly harder for her to think _why should she_?

Her mind was a confusing tangle of words and thoughts and emotions as she made her way to the subway. It was barely eight am, but stopping for breakfast and getting off one stop farther from the office would only make her slightly early for work. Still, all this avoiding Killian was becoming awfully tiring.

Maybe things would settle down soon, and then she could _really_ forget what had happened and they could just continue on until the time came when they no longer had to be in each other's lives, or at least not living together.

Maybe, she sighed to herself as she started down the subway steps.

/

He had found the mislaid key wedged between the back of the sofa and the foam portion that formed the arm piece. Looking for it had made him late, but he had a seminar that morning and he knew his juniors could cope in his absence for a few minutes.

It was clear straight away why she had lost the damn thing. The plain silver key he had given her when she had moved in was forlorn and lacking either a key chain or any other means of identification. He rolled his eyes as he stuffed it into his pocket.

Grabbing his jacket, he paused a second and let himself look at the apartment. Somehow over the past few weeks it had become truly _theirs_ not just his - aside from the pieces she had picked from her sublet, her brown boots sat near the door, the worn copy of _Gone with the Wind_ was on the small table near the couch, one of her leather jackets was strewn over the armchair near the tv.

Smiling as he left, Killian realized he actually quite liked it this way.

/

They ' d exchanged a grand total of five text messages that day.

 _I found your key, down the back of the sofa. K_

 _I thought it was there! Can I come get it_ _from you? I might have to work late._

 _Sure, but I_ ' _ll bring it to you, my 3 pm lecture_ ' _s cancelled. K_

 _Great, I_ ' _ll be at Jeremy_ ' _s Coffee Bean on Lexington, four?_

 _I_ ' _ll be there. K_

She was easy to spot, camped out in a corner of the cozy coffee shop, laptop open, coat slung over the back of her chair. Killian was just about to advance towards her when he saw another man take a seat on the chair opposite. A tall man with dark blonde hair and a takeout coffee cup in his hand.

Scrunching up his forehead, Killian watched as the two chatted for a moment, the easy smiles on their faces clear evidence that this was not the first time they had met. A strange feeling occupied his gut as he hesitated for a few moments. He wanted to know who this man was. He was curious, that ' s all.

But if that was it, why did his fingers tingle like they did when he was nervous? Why was he struggling to hold back a frown from creasing his forehead?

" Can I help you? "

Startled, Killian turned to see a waitress holding a serving tray looking at him quizzically. He smiled quickly, shaking his head and insisting he was fine.

Because he was fine.

With long, confident strides he walked across the shop floor until he was within a few feet of the table. Fixing his face with a carefree, confident expression he placed a hand on her shoulder.

" Hello Emma, " he breezed, immediately eyeing up the other man.

" Killian! " she cried, as he kept his gaze fixed on the other armchair, its occupant moving to stand. " Is it four already? " she asked. He looked down and saw her cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

" Almost, " he nodded, sending another purposeful glance at the other man.

Emma seemed flustered, clutching at her own coffee cup as she looked between the two men. " Oh, um, Killian this is Graham, Graham this is … Killian. "

He caught straight away that she did not give either man a relationship - ' my friend ' , or ' who I work with ' or _husband_ for that matter. Swallowing back that piece of information he reached his hand across the table and gave Graham ' s a firm shake. " Nice to meet you. "

" And you too, " Graham replied with a curious squint, " I have to be going though. Later Emma? "

" Sure, " she nodded, nervously tucking hair behind her ears as he went to leave.

There was an awkward few seconds as Graham made his way past Killian towards the door, flashing him a terse smile. With stiff shoulders, Killian waited until he was almost there before moving to sit in the vacant seat.

" So …" he began with a quick raise of his brows. " You ' ve never mentioned this Graham before- "

(And as soon as those words passed his lips be wanted to kick himself, realizing how juvenile they sounded).

She shrugged, " He ' s a contact for work. Actually, he ' s a police officer, gives me inside information from time to time. "

Killian raised his brows again, this time holding them there for a second, as if expecting more details. " You seemed quite … familiar? "

Emma shrugged. " Not really. I mean, he asked me on a date once, but that ' s it. Purely business. "

Killian felt an unfamiliar prickle on against the back of his neck. He managed to play it off into merely the barest flinch, but he was sure she registered it by the way her eyes flickered questioningly. Nodding, he let his eyes slip closed, trying not to imagine the fair haired man ' s arms around her, or his lips pressed against hers-

" So, keys …" he mumbled, searching through his pockets.

Emma busied herself with her laptop for a second as he patted his jacket down before remembering they were in his back jeans pocket. He shuffled forward on the chair, reaching in his hand and pulling out the silver key. " There you go. "

" Thanks- " she began, reaching out her hand, smiling as she saw what was attached to the keys. " A keychain? "

" I thought it might lessen the chances of you misplacing it again. "

She smiled briefly, taking the key and looking at the keychain, her small smile suddenly breaking into a full-blown grin at the copper colored adornment. " A lobster? " she laughed.

Shyly, Killian shrugged. " I thought it apt. "

Emma continued to grin as she looked at the small, metal lobster that hung from the key.

It had made her smile and that was what he had hoped. It had been chosen partly on a whim from one of newsstands that lined the streets near the university. Buying a copy of the _Post_ , it had caught his eye and brought him back to that night in Cape Cod, that first time he ' d really seen her carefree and perhaps even relaxed in his company. It was a happy memory for him and he hoped for her too.

" I guess I ' ll have to call him Larry, " she added as she rubbed her thumb over the lobster ' s spiky legs.

" It ' s only appropriate, " Killian added.

" So, um, can you stay for a coffee? " she asked, with a hint of hesitation in her voice.

He smiled briefly, " Wish I could, but I ' m meeting Will to watch a match and I ' m already late. "

" A- what? " she asked, confused.

" A match - a game, football, I mean soccer. "

" I didn ' t know you were into sports, " she teased.

He swallowed heavily, his voice dropping a little, " You don ' t know everything about me, love. " The cafe seemed to get instantly quieter, more intimate and a flush crept up her cheeks. His eyes fixed on hers for a second or two longer than seemed natural, finally letting his face break into a grin. " But since you asked, I have been known to watch a game or two. Especially when it ' s Scarlet ' s turn to buy the pints. "  
/

He left as she placed the key in her pocket.

Her latte was a little cold so she pushed it aside and turned her attention back to her laptop. Her mind, however, had other ideas and insisted on running over the previous few minutes.

Maybe she was imagining it, but Killian had seemed a little jealous of Graham. Which was ridiculous, really. He was a nice guy and all, but that in itself had been enough reason for her to keep a wide berth from him while politely declining his offer of a date not long after they had met.

Yes, on paper he would make someone the perfect partner-

But, as she reminded herself, Emma Swan was not looking for a partner, in any respect. Graham had taken the hint and now they were at best almost friends.

Still, the idea that Killian has been threatened by his presence was all at once crazy and at the same time, intriguing. There was no ownership in their … arrangement. No promises, no expectations beyond the visa process and their eventual divorce-

The word _divorce_ sunk rather heavily in her mind as she took a final sip of her coffee.

In about six month's time, she would no longer be married woman; nor, technically, single. She would be a divorcee. Emma felt a nasty taste in her mouth.

Gulping back a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, she grimaced.

/

Killian arrived just as the first half of the game was going into extra time. Wordlessly, Scarlet slid him a bottle of beer as his eyes remind fixed on the television. Nothing came between Will and his football.

Sipping his drink quietly, Killian ' s mind wandered to its usual topic of late - Emma. Somehow over the past few weeks he had become thinking about her more and more. And now, after their night together, these imaginings and ponderings were ever more vivid.

" Jones! "

Killian spat out the mouthful of beer he had in his mouth as Will slapped his hand hard on his back, it took a few moments of coughing and spluttering before he regained his composure.

" You dick, " he smiled.

" And yet you still put up with me, " Will laughed, finishing his beer and holding up his hand to order another two from the barman.

" So, how ' s the game? " he asked, realizing that he had failed to register the score whilst his mind was preoccupied.

" Shit, " Will sniffed, " The ref ' s a Southerner and we now you southern pansies no nowt about the beautiful game. "

" So you remind me quite often, " Killian smirked as he accepted his new beer.

Will tipped his bottle towards Killian ' s, " Cheers. " They took another sip each - Killian overlooking the fact that it was a little early to be downing beers when he had a class at 8am the next day. " I have some news, " Will revealed, flashing a wide grin.

" And … ? "

" Well, I had a call today, from a Ms. Cora Mills. "

Killian let out a deep sigh. He ' d been expecting this.

" She was alright actually, a bit posh, " Will shrugged.

" And? " Killian pressed, trying to remind himself that Will was a far more laid back person than he (so laid back that he may be careless about what he would reveal to Ms. Mills…).

" She asked a few questions about you and the missus, how long you ' d been together, that kind thing. I said exactly what you told me. " Will looked at Killian expectantly.

" Oh, great, thanks mate. Does she need to see you in person? "

Will shrugged, " She said that was enough for now and she ' d call me if she needed anything else. That ' s good - right? "

" I guess, " Killian sighed, rolling the beer bottle in between his hands. " This is all brand new territory. "

" Chin up, mate, you need to be more positive. "

Will nudged him in the side and Killian tried to relax a little. He could feel the tension he had been holding in his shoulders loosen a little as he let out another deep breath.

" How ' s things goin ' then, with Emma? Still sleepin ' on the couch? " Will ' s tone was teasing as per usual, but instead of his usual blustered reply, Killian began to scratch behind his ear. " Cat got your tongue? "

He really hadn ' t planned to tell Will about what had happened the other night. Better he kept it to himself-

" Jones- " Will warned. And he knew then that the blasted Yorkshireman would get it out of him if he liked it or not.

" We had a- "

A what? How the hell could he explain what had happened when he wasn ' t even sure himself?

" What I mean is we kissed and- "

" Shagged? " Will suggested and right then Killian just wanted to punch him, mate or not.

Pursing his lips he gave Will a warning look.

" No …"

" But something happened, mate. I could see it the minute you walked in. "

Killian frowned. Really? Was it that obvious?

" You ' re all tense and you ' ve got that look on your face that tells me a woman ' s on your mind. "

" Because you are on expert on all things women related. "

" Belle has _no_ complaints, " Will quipped, running his tongue suggestively along his lips. " Anyway, this is about you. "

Killian pinched his mouth together. " We - we got intimate. It was all a bit …"

" What? "

Killian shook his head. " I don ' t know mate. I really don ' t know what to say. Things happened and then we talked a bit and now it ' s like nothing has changed. She hasn ' t mentioned it at all. "

" But have you? " Will pointed out.

" Fair point, " Killian conceded as he picked at the paper label of his bottle.

" Look mate, I have no idea what you two are up to, but what I do know is you can ' t afford to fuck this up. Talk to her. If it was a mistake, then you need to deal with it. "

Surprised, Killian looked at his friend. " That ' s actually really good advice. "

Will winked. "Now, on to more important matters. Fancy a bet on who scores the next goal?"

 _/_

She wasn't home when he made it back from the bar just after eight. Scarlet's team lost 3-0, so he had insisted on drowning his sorrows in a few more beers before he would let Killian go. Thankfully, after pleading an early start in the morning, he had switched to drinking ice water before depositing Will into a cab and sending a warning text to Belle.

She was avoiding him again, he supposed. Their brief detente in the coffee shop had just been that - brief. He sighed as he shucked off his stale work clothes and pulled on a pair of sleep pants and an old t-shirt. After that morning, he thought it may be a good idea to wear a few more clothes to bed. If they were going to be sharing this space now, as they seemed to be, it would be best to keep things as platonic as possible.

(But even as he thought that, he was laughing at himself. Platonic was impossible when you can't stop thinking about the other person.) A bowl of soggy cereal and a TV movie from 1985 were enough to convince him that an early night would be a good idea. He wasn't avoiding her. And he wasn't avoiding taking Will's advice (or so he told himself).

Lying in bed, he listened to the humming sound of the street outside and the bangs and rattles that seemed to sneak along the pipework from the other apartments. Sleep was elusive. He tried clearing his mind, but it was impossible. She kept appearing - her laugh, her smile. God, why couldn't he shake this?

It must have been almost eleven by the time he heard her key in the door, a little jingle of her keychain, soft footsteps - and that made him smile.

He closed his eyes as she stepped into the bedroom, listening to her take off her boots and clothes, the soft sound of fabric falling into the laundry hamper mixing with her gentle breathing. The floorboards creaked and he felt the bed shift as she slipped under the covers beside him.

Briefly, he thought about admitting he was awake, but then he felt her hand against his cheek and he froze. She was brushing her fingers against beard, her body just a few inches away from his. Her touch was electric. He struggled to maintain his even breathing, confused and unsure as to what was happening, but in no way wanting it to end.

Pushing back the hair from his forehead, she placed a gentle kiss there and he shivered, his eyes flickering open-

"Oh-" she whispered, eyelashes fluttering shyly. "I thought you were asleep."

He shrugged, swallowing hard, not really sure how to reply-

Then her lips were on his again, soft and impatient, trailing over his mouth and jaw. It took half a second for him to respond in kind, his hands coming to her waist, feeling that she was dressed only in her underwear and tank top, her skin an inferno against his-

Her leg slid between his, her thigh pressing against his groin and making him moan as he fully emerged from the half sleep that he had been lingering in, his conscious awake as he mumbled against her lips-

"Emma…"

"Shh," she whispered, cupping his face with her hands, "Let's not think about it."

And with that prompt, he let his body take the lead.

 **A/N My muse is awfully fickle as of late, but thank you for all the lovely reviews. They mean a lot and they do motivate me to make this the best I can! And thank you of course to my wonderful beta Ztofan/Nickillia** n.


	15. Burning

_Earlier that evening_

Emma tapped her nails against the desk as she stared at the screen. The words and pictures on the webpage she was looking at had long since blurred as she found herself once again thinking about Killian.

Avoiding him had seemed the easy option.

(The coward's option.)

She had been certain that placing an emotional distance between them would quash any lingering emotions. Harboring a crush, that was fine. But wanting him like she had that night ( _and she still did_ ) - that was crossing a line. And she did what she always did in uncomfortable situations. Ran.

Well, kinda. The whole _fake marriage for a visa_ thing negated her normal response. But she was confident that it would only be a couple more months before the visa came through and she could finally move back to her own place and, after a suitable period of time, end their legal entanglement.

 _M-a-r-r-i-a-g-e._

Startled, she looked at what she had just typed out onto the blank word document in front of her.

Mouth pursed, she bit down hard on her lip.

 _Why was this so goddamn hard?_

(Vivid memories emerged of his touch, his reverence as he worked over her skin. His lips, his eyes, his _heart-_ )

 _Thud-thud-thud-_

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, a cold sweat forming on her upper lip-

The phone was in her hand before she had time to think.

 _Tap-tap-tap-_

"Hello?"

"Hey Belle."

"Have you changed your number?"

She held her breath a second, missing a beat, "No, I'm still at work."

"Why on Earth are you calling me from your office?"

Emma toyed with the spiral cord of the phone, wrapping it around her fingers as she sought a suitable rouse-

"Just catching up on some paperwork."

Lies. _Lies, lies, lies_!

Belle chuckled, "I'd have thought you would have enjoyed having the apartment to yourself. That said, if Killian is in as much of a state as Will is, you're probably better off staying there for a couple more hours."

She tried to laugh. She did. But Emma knew that her friend would see straight through the fakeness.

"What's happened?"

 _Shit._ She was quicker than she expected.

"Nothing…" Emma lied with a deep sigh.

"Em, you wouldn't be ringing me at 10pm from work if everything was okay. Now if you really don't want to tell me, I'll understand. But I'm here. I'm your friend."

Pressing her mouth against the back of her hand, she dug her teeth into the pale skin. She could just blow her off now. It wasn't too late-

"I'm having…" she blurted out, "Problems with Killian."

There was a second's pause on the other end of the line.

"Problems? I thought you were getting on well?" Belle's confusion was evident.

"Well we are," Emma explained quickly before sucking a cool breath through her teeth, "But maybe too well? God, I don't know-"

Now that she'd said something out loud, it just sounded, well, dumb.

"Wait, back up a little there. Too well? What do you mean?"

How could she explain it to Belle? Ostensibly her closest friend who still had no real idea why Emma balked at the idea of a real relationship and hid behind her sky high emotional barriers?

She decided to start at the beginning.

"Okay… so for a while now I've had this crush on him, dumb I know," Belle squealed over the line, Emma pressed her eyes closed and continued, "but he's the kinda guy that gives you no choice. I mean, who is _that_ nice and handsome and decent?" She scoffed, shaking her head at her own words, "But anyway, the other night he was trying to take care of me-"

"Take care of you?" Belle asked, "Did you get hurt or something?"

"I was on a job and took a couple of hits-"

"But you'd told him that was something that happens?"

"Um, no…" Emma sighed, "I mean, it never really came up, my job. I mean the specifics-"

"Em! No wonder he freaked out!"

And immediately she felt guilty. A sudden image of Killian with a cut lip and black eye lit up her mind's eye. She visibly recoiled, pressing herself against the padded back to the cheap office chair on which she sat.

If it had been the other way, she had to admit, she would have wanted to help him.

"Yeah," she muttered noncommittally, her mind still wrapping around those thoughts. "But I wasn't exactly thinking, and then we ended up kind of arguing and then he was being so nice and somehow we were kissing-"

"You kissed him?" Belle cried, her voice loud and shrill.

And now one confession was out, it was easier to continue-

"And a little more than that." Emma replied meekly.

"You slept with him?" Belle trilled.

"No." Emma admitted, her foot tapping anxiously on the cheap floor tiles, "But only because we had no condoms."

Belle let out a low deep breath.

She'd admitted it. Finally.

The only reason she hadn't fucked Killian Jones' brains out was a lack of birth control.

She mentally patted herself on the back - that showed some kind of self-control, right?

"This is big, Emma. Huge."

"Yeah, a huge mistake! Now I feel so goddam awkward around him-"

"But you like him?"

Emma paused, hadn't she already said that? Liking him meant _nothing._ It was irrelevant. Pointless. Right?

"Yeah, but _that's_ not the point. I'm not looking for anything, you know that. And I can't risk this whole agreement we have." She let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "On a fling, I mean," she added quietly.

"What if it's more than that? Or could be-"

"It can't be!"

"Emma-"

"Belle-"

A tense few seconds rolled by.

 _Shit,_ had she just ruined her sole friendship with another woman?

"Okay Emma. Well, what do you want me to say? I mean, you can't avoid him forever. Or maybe you're just looking for someone's permission to take this further?"

 _Damn Belle._

How could she even think that? Emma Swan needed no one else's permission to live her life! It was just fine the way it had been. Nice job, her own place. No complications. Especially Irish ones with devilishly dark hair and kind eyes-

"No…" she said in her most convincing voice.

"Fine. If that's how you want to play it."

Emma was going to protest but the words died in her throat.

"But look Emma, you need to talk to him. If you don't clear the air soon, you're going to implode. You may try and hide from me but I _know_ you. Maybe better than you know yourself."

Emma sulked, pouting her lips as she silently digested her friend's words.

"Go home, talk to him."

"How?" Emma whined, suddenly feeling like the awkward, morose teenager she still felt herself to be.

"Just be honest. And Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"Buy some condoms on the way."

And with that, Belle ended the call.

/

The apartment was deadly silent. Emma let out a sigh of relief as she locked the door behind her.

Shrugging off her jacket, she hung it on one of the empty hooks on the wall.

Cool nerves threaded through her veins. Her purse was in one hand, rustling slightly with the plastic drugstore bag inside. She eyed the contents warily.

All the way home she had waged a mental battle with herself. Talk to him, Belle had urged. And it was a sensible idea… in theory. But Emma knew herself better than anyone. She knew that the only way to get him out of her system was to confront the situation head on. By defusing the sexual tension that had dogged them for weeks now, surely things would improve?

So there she stood, outside the bedroom door, her hands shaking-

 _This was crazy and dumb and she should rethink this whole crazy idea-_

Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest as she stepped inside. Killian lay underneath the sheets, still and silent, as ridiculously handsome as ever. She watched him as she undressed - the movement of his chest as he breathed in and out, the shadow that fell over his forehead where his hair had swept forward. Mindlessly she continued until she was left only in her panties and tank top, shivering in the cool bedroom air. It was almost November now - soon it would be time for flannel pajamas and toasty nights in front of the TV- Suddenly she saw them together, curled up in each other on the couch, arguing over what to watch on Netflix-

 _No, she couldn't do it._ Couldn't just wake him up and try and seduce him and then pretend that it meant nothing more. Maybe it would work. But, as she watched him sleep, she knew that she could not risk their friendship to find out.

Under the covers, she turned to face him, enjoying the rare moment to study his face. Gently, she reached out her hand and ran it against the soft beard that he wore. It suited him, highlighting his jawline. Clean-shaven, he looked quite innocent and young, but like this-

Her stomach clenched and she struggled to keep her breathing light, scared of waking him. But still, she leaned further forward, brushing back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. Her heart ached.

Just then, she realized why things were so difficult for her. Despite herself, despite everything that she held to be true about her past and what she wanted for her future, she wished things were different. She wished she could wipe away the past and open herself up to someone, someone kind and caring. Someone like Killian.

As she pressed a light kiss to his forehead, she cursed the world that had led to her become this broken, damaged woman.

Mid thought, she saw his eyes flicker open. Blue, even in the darkness. Recoiling slightly she blushed and stuttered, "Oh, I thought you were asleep…"

She watched his eyes widen a little, darting briefly to look at her lips as he wordlessly shrugged in reply.

Her heartbeat became so rapid she could barely discern the gap between each one.

There, so vulnerable and open beside her, she couldn't withhold the urge to press her lips against his. Warm and pliant beneath her, her moaned softly as his hands came to her waist, reaching the skin exposed by her barely clothed self.

Each kiss multiplied her need for him. She ran her lips over his jaw, brushing them against the soft layer of scruff, softly biting the skin as her fingers threaded through his thick hair.

He was kissing her back.

Ardently, passionately-

She slipped her leg between his, bringing her body to hover over his own, feeling his body respond to her touch-

"Emma…" he muttered as she brushed her mouth over the prominent vein of his neck.

"Shh," she whispered in reply bringing her face level with his, cradling his head in her hands.

Now was not the time for talking. Not the time for thinking-

"Let's not think about it," she continued, waiting for the tiny nod in reply before she reclaimed his mouth with her own.

/

It wasn't a dream. That much was made clear by the weighty warmth of her body pressed against his and the pressure of her mouth against his own.

He was drowning in her. All rational thought left his mind-

A sole molecule of restraint cried out to him to _stop_ and _think_ -

But he was in too deep, too drunk on her essence to care what the rational mind wanted. His body needed her.

Truth be told, his heart needed her more.

He wanted to show her, tell her all this. Yet words were insufficient. He knew that all but the sharpest of phrases would fail to pierce her emotional armor. (The same he wore, though perhaps somewhat lighter in its construction). So Killian was left with the only offensive action he knew, showing her with his body how much he desired her.

Kisses, touches, brief burning glances when eyes met.

The moment stretched out, timeless and breathless as they tangled their bodies in the cotton sheets.

Their bodies moved in sync, like seasoned lovers rather than what they were- more than friends, yet still cautious of one another, lives entwined but still somewhat apart.

Grazing his teeth over the flesh of her breast, he pushed her onto her back, anchoring her legs with his, running his slightly coarse palms over her burning, aching skin as he peeled away her shirt. She looked up at him with a gaze that he could most liken to adoration. Eyes shining, an open, naked expression on her face. A knot thickened in his stomach.

/

Such a suffocating, wonderful feeling. Being consumed by another (by _him_ ).

Taken by surprise by his ardor and passion as he worshipped and explored her body.

It'd never felt like this before.

Exposed and bare before him, their eyes met.

Now was the moment. It was her chance to pull back again, to halt things-

But instead she whispered, "My purse."

He took a second to register what she was saying, his breath heavy and wanting, a small nod showing his understanding as he crawled away.

(And she mourned the loss of him instantly, be it only for a few precious seconds).

Shimmying off her panties, she used the moments it took for him to return to her side to collect herself.

This is what she wanted. Get him out of her system. Free herself of this… crush.

The smile he gave her next was almost shy. But he didn't speak, didn't break the spell-

(He knew too that this was just a moment, a one off, temporary… she thought).

More burning kisses, hands searching, moans and gentle cries filling the small room.

She was scorching when he finally touched her between her thighs, prying them further apart, running his fingers through her dampness, making restraint impossible. Digging her teeth into his shoulder, she palmed his hardness in her hands, urging him to continue his exploration, relishing the slide of his fingers inside her, trying to reconcile her conflicting emotions: fiery passion mixed with tender wanting.

He nudged his nose against hers, taking her mouth again in his, working her clit with his thumb-

But she was more than ready. She didn't want to wait. Those motions of foreplay, whilst delicious, merely delaying her ultimate aim. Sex. That was all. Cleansing, meaningless sex.

/

"Now, please," she whined.

 _Don't think,_ he told himself, _don't think…_

Tearing into the package with his teeth, he sank back onto his haunches, rolling on the condom. He could hear her shuddering breath.

 _This was really happening._

 _It's not a dream._

There wasn't time enough to think what it actually meant. Her hands were pulling him back to her seconds later, her legs wrapping around his hips and nudging him closer to her.

His arms shook a little. There was no going back. Both were willing and wanting, need filled the air and the tension between them was tighter than a bowstring.

/

She couldn't wait any longer, tightening her heels against him, she pressed his length into her. Sinking slowly deeper, she held her breath until he bottomed out. Two bodies entwined, breathing together, waiting…

"Move," she commanded, unable to take the anticipation, needing to know if this was everything she thought it would be-

/

Embedded in the warmth of her body, his mind began to swim.

"Move."

Silently, he acquiesced to her demands, rocking experimentally at first, fixing his mind, concentrating on enjoying her embrace whilst stretching out the moment as long as possible.

Around him, she felt divine. More than he could have hoped or dreamed (and he _had_ dreamed).

Her nails dug into his shoulders. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck so her panting breaths rung in his ears. He didn't need words. He listened to the rhythm of her body, rolling his hips as hers curved to meet them.

Bliss.

/

Her climax had crowned her yearning for him, burrowing deep inside as she clung to his body while he sought his own release. Twin hearts beat together. It reached inside her, the movement, touching her soul until she recoiled, drawing back her knees as he withdrew beside her.

So exposed and bare she felt beside him.

Now the heat of the moment had subsided, raw emotion surfaced. And it scared her.

Groping around the dark floor, she located her tank top, peeling it over her still damp skin as he breathed heavily beside her.

Her own body still shook from the after effects.

Sex. It was just sex.

"Well…" Killian sighed a few minutes later.

"It was just sex," she blurted out before he could say anymore. Her heartbeat thudded traitorously in her chest as a pregnant pause hung between them.

"But-"

"We needed to do this, okay?" she babbled, wringing her hands in the comforter that that was slung low over her waist, "Get it out of our systems."

"Emma-" he sighed. She could hear him roll onto his side to face her as she trained her eyes on the ceiling.

"It's just sex."

Killian swallowed hard. Her eyes suddenly began to burn, tears threatening to fall. His hand reached for her arm and her skin torched at his touch. She pressed her eyes closed, promising herself that this was right. That she was right.

"It can never be _just_ that, and you know it."

His fingers lingered lightly on her skin. She flinched. Resisting the urge to curl up to his body, to cocoon herself in his embrace. That would show weakness and Emma Swan was strong and independent-

Refusing to look at him, Emma furrowed her brow, tightening her grip on the comforter.

No, she was right. He knew her boundaries. He knew her past - God, she had told him so much! So much more than anyone else. Why didn't he understand? He, of all people.

"It's all it can ever be," she replied quietly, turning so her back was to him.

All you lovely people who follow this sort spur me on and make me wish it to be the best it can.

Thank you. Your messages and reviews give me oxygen for my lungs and ink for my metaphorical pen... J xx


	16. Recoil

The coffee wasn't helping.

Bleary eyed, Emma stood in the kitchen, staring blankly at the steaming cup in her hands. Her pathetic attempt at sleep had been aborted at the first signs of sunrise. She'd stood under the searing hot water of the shower long enough to turn her skin a bright shade of pink. (Foolishly hoping that she could wash away the feelings that the night had brought out in her.)

Killian was either asleep or pretending to be, and frankly she was grateful. She had no idea what to say to him.

For all her efforts at denying them, the memories of last night still hummed beneath her skin, seared on her brain in minute detail. Every touch, every movement, every sound-

The events replayed as she took another sip.

It was not what she had expected. A quick, meaningless fuck was what she had wanted. Mechanical and raw, the kind that was akin to scratching an itch. But who was she kidding?

He was right. It could never be just sex between them. Never just the physical; there was too much else there. The twinned, tortured souls they both owned. The electricity that crackled between them even when she tried to deny it. The simple comfort of his presence.

And as she walked into the living room, she realized that is what scared her.

/

First he was confused: his body still fueled by hormones and lust.

Then he felt numb. She had laid coldly beside him, her back turned, silent. He ached to keep touching her, pull her close, soak her in…

Later, as then sun rose, he was angry. Or at least he tried to be.

(Not that he really ever _could_ , not at her.)

But now it felt like she was playing with his emotions. Cold, hot, cold. He couldn't keep pace.

Part of him remembered how hurt she had been by her past, and that he should be patient… But to what end? Would she ever be able to see beyond her past?

(Like he already was.)

It was there, lying in bed as she showered, pretending to still be asleep that he realized the depth of his burgeoning emotions.

His earlier losses seemed to pale when placed beside the threat of losing this woman. Past losses, while still softly painful, were being overtaken by a new kind of hurt.

Because with Emma, he risked losing her before she ever really was his.

As he thought back to the night before, a shiver ran down his spine. It had been everything he had thought it could be, yet still only a taste of her, of them. Making love had seemed so natural to them. He had memorized the motions of her body and the small sighs and gasps that punctuated their encounter. It was another side to her - to them - that seemed so right.

Fear pierced his heart. His aching, open heart that she had begun to unlock. Despite herself, she had made him realize what he wanted - no _needed_ \- more than anything else. Something he had thought impossible.

To be complete: whole.

To be completed _by her_.

/

The bedroom door creaked, Emma sucked in a breath and froze.

"Emma, we need to talk."

She took another sip of her coffee.

"Do we?" she asked nonchalantly, immediately scrunching up her eyes in frustration at herself.

Killian let out a deep sigh and stuffed his hands into his sweatpant pockets as Emma watched, her breathing already shaking in anticipation.

"What are we doing?" he asked cautiously.

Like a coward, she remained silent.

She'd hoped her lies the night before would be enough to let this fade away.

(Though, still, a small part of her yearned to tell him the truth).

"What was last night?" He sighed again and took a few steps closer to where she stood at the foot of the couch. "I mean, to you. Really."

Her heart almost leapt out of her chest, blood rushing though her veins sending a sickening wave of adrenaline to her gut. He raised his brows, his hair so perfectly mussed up, his blue eyes so expressive that she could almost read his mind and knew it was filled with the same thoughts as her own.

( _Breathless memories of his touch - his kisses - flooded her body. It was all too much-_ )

"Nothing."

She licked her lips and hugged her coffee cup closer. It had lost its comforting warmth now.

Across the room, Killian's shoulders dropped.

/

It smarted.

Still, he knew she was lying. He could see it in her eyes.

She set the cup down on the table beside the couch and reached out a hand-

His body stiffened.

He didn't want her to try and comfort him, not like this. Not laced with lies and fear and hurt-

"You know what?" Killian whispered, "You're so…"

She paused, her eyes flickering to his face.

"So…what?" she asked.

He was silent apart from the barest flicker of emotion as his lips pressed tighter together.

He didn't want to hurt her.

He didn't want to cause her pain.

But that's exactly what she was doing to him.

"Come on, what am I?" she goaded, with a new tartness to her tone.  
He looked up, meeting her eyes, seeing the fear there, barely hiding something simmering below. Something he knew was reflected in his own gaze.

"You're selfish," he explained flatly, immediately wincing as she her face crumpled.

/

"What?" she cried. How could he say that? How could he _think_ that?

Selfish was the last thing she was. She always put others first.

All she wanted to do was to protect him.

(And herself.)

"You heard me."

Dropping her head, she whispered, "How can you say that? After everything _I've_ been through? Everything I've told you-"

A small sob caught in her throat.

She didn't want him to see her cry. She wouldn't get upset. She would bury the pain deep down.

"Emma, sometimes it's not always about you. I know the past has dealt you a hard hand, but-" he took a deep breath, leaning forward and placing his hands on the back of the couch, "Other people hurt. Other people have things in their life that… have made them the way they are. But that doesn't give them free reign to run over other people in a quest to be some kind of martyr."

/

 _Damn it she was stubborn,_ he thought as his blood raced around his body and long forgotten passions rose within him.

His eyes flickered to her. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed, as she stared at the ground. It was clear she was holding something back.

Well, he wasn't going to hold back anymore.

"God Emma, how are you so blind? I've been trying so damn hard to show you some compassion, that I bloody care about you-"

"You care about me?" she cried, whipping her head up until he could see the telltale redness that was lining her eyes.

"Emma, I thought that was patently obvious."

She shook her head, taking a step backwards, "You said you didn't want that, that you didn't want more…"

Killian swallowed hard, closing his eyes as he made his confession.

"I lied." The barest hint of a smile licked at his lips, "What I mean is, I didn't. Until I met you."

/

The words settled between them until the only sounds they could hear were the early morning noises of the other apartments rising for the day.

Emma stood paralyzed, his confession having hit her like a freight train. Cold fear began to shroud her body.

"Oh God, this is what I was afraid of," she whispered, her eyes glazing over.

"Hearing the truth?"

Sadly, she shook her head. "Emotions, entanglements…I do better…alone. I thought you understood."

Slowly she sank to sit on the couch. How much could she deny?

She knew that if Belle were here, she would call her crazy. Here was a wonderful man, telling her he cared for her, and all she could do was recoil in fear. In the years since Neal's departure from her life she had done a remarkable job of keeping to herself, of avoiding any relationships that could potentially turn sour. (Including friendships.)

But there had been something of a sea change in the past year or so, Belle having worked her way into her life, bringing with her new people, new challenges… and him. These changes had happened so slowly she barely knew what was happening before her solitary life had faded away and here she was, in the grip of something new and altogether terrifying.

Still, she could be honest with him. He deserved that at least. Not that it would change anything.

"You know, I lied too. Last night didn't mean nothing. It meant _everything. Everything,_ " she pressed her eyes closed, admitting what she knew in her heart was true. Because it _had_ meant everything. For all she had hoped it would prove the opposite, she couldn't deny their connection, the way he made her feel- _"_ But I can't be more to you. _This_ can't be more. I thought you understood."

Tears begin to sting at her eyes.

Why did this hurt so much?

/

The small feeling of triumph at her confession was quickly superseded by the crushing sensation of defeat.

"Emma, why are you so averse to being happy, or at least trying to be?" he asked, shaking his head.

"Unhappy is just my natural state. It's safer," she whispered with a wry smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"I think you're more scared of being hurt than being alone."

She laughed, a pained chuckle that echoed thinly around the apartment. "That's strange coming from you."

"Touché," he nodded. He felt the remaining energy leave his body. Sapped, as it was, by the emotional turmoil inside and the burning tension between them that wasn't lessening in spite of her denials. "You know, you're not as closed off as you think you are. I've seen that look in your eye-"

"What look?"

"Emma, you know what I mean…"

Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment, his heartbeat seemed to skip as she looked at him again, just that way. The way that made him feel like there was hope inside her, and that for some crazy reason he was meant to meet her, meant to find her-

"I never told you something, Emma. I've always secretly believed in second chances."

/

His words were like bullets, slicing through her weakened flesh, sapping away the last reserves of strength that she had stored to keep her barriers high. The tears she was holding back increased their strength and it took all her remaining control to keep them from tumbling down her cheeks.

"You know, I'm not some savior, I'm not here to rescue you. And I certainly don't need saving," she took a deep breath and looked up at him, "So what do you want from me?"

And then he gave her a look. A heartbreaking, gut wrenching pained look that made her want to tear out her own heart and give it to him, just to lessen the damage she had inflicted, to make him again the man she had met so many months before.

"I just want to love you, Emma. That's all I want from you - to let me."

/

He slammed the door to the bedroom before she could react to his confession. And before she could see his own tears.

It had been some time since he had cried over a woman, and in much different circumstances. This wasn't meant to happen. He wasn't meant to start falling for her. But he was.

And even though his heart felt crushed right then, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

After a few moments, there was a gentle knock at the door.

"Killian, I'm going to give you some space. I'm sorry."

She went quiet, but there were no footsteps to reveal she had walked away.

"And Killian?"

He remained silent.

"I wish I could let you love me too."

 **A/N - I know, I know - so much angst! But things are going to change a bit between them now. Look for a little time jump in the next chapter, more from Cora, a dash of Belle and Will and of course, that ring.**

 **As always, thank you to my wonderful beta and to everyone who has left a review - you really spur me on to make it the best I can!**


	17. Reactions

Being a coward came surprisingly natural to Emma, which was strange as she had always considered herself rather brave. But then, being brave when faced with slimy criminals and deadbeat con men was a different kind when compared to personal matters of the heart.

Emma had spent the day following their fight staking out the family home of a persistent bail jumper, her ongoing companions being soft rock radio and her torturous thoughts of what had happened that morning. When she found herself falling asleep against the car steering wheel she knew it was time to find somewhere to crash for the night.

Thankfully, Belle didn't ask much at first. When Emma had arrived at her apartment door with pink rimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks, she had hustled her inside with soothing words, pushing a cup of hot cocoa in her hands as she made up a bed on the couch. Once the chill that had taken over her body from a day spent outside in chilly November conditions began to recede she began to talk. With broken sentences, she tried to explain what had happened, leaving out all but the most vague of details… They'd had a fight. No, he wasn't mad. She wanted to give him space. ( _She_ needed space.)

So Emma stayed the night. And then another. And one more.

For a few days, she could almost pretend it hadn't happened.

Belle remained tight lipped, but she could see the worried look she wore when she thought Emma wasn't looking.

Emma understood. When she looked in the mirror she saw how pale and drawn she had become, how her eyes had sunken into dark circles as the worry she had carried with her since she left the apartment became heavier with each passing hour.

Killian didn't call or text. Logically she knew it was because he was giving her time, she was after all the one who had chosen to leave the apartment. But still it stung her heart every time she checked her phone to see no news from him.

 _Nothing less than she deserved_ , she thought.

/

It started with the half drank bottle of tequila. The one that had been the touchpaper for this whole sorry mess.

He'd dialed his supervisor's number without even thinking, as he filled up a tumbler with two finger's worth of liquor. Mumbling through an excuse of having the flu, he had barely pressed the call end button when he sank back a mouthful. It burned, but the burn felt good, making his eyes water, giving him a different kind of pain to focus on.

Settling with the bottle on the couch, he reflected on the last twelve hours. Processing how he felt was not easy.

She'd left as she promised, when he entered the living room a few minutes earlier the only remnant was the forgotten coffee cup she had left on the table beside the couch. Somehow, this made the whole conversation they had had seem surreal. But, he hadn't drunk enough yet to doubt his memory, and as much as he would like to hope it had all been a dream he knew that was not true.

Some time had passed since he had drowned himself in the bottle. Indeed, it had been those first few weeks after Milah had passed that he had last felt the need to drink himself into oblivion. Alcohol was merely a delaying method, of course. He knew fine and well that when the drug left his system, everything he had tried to block out would still be there. It had before.

Sobriety had only served to remind him that he had lost so much, and under cruel circumstances. The sorrow hung heavily, increased by remaining in the home they had shared - where everything reminded him of her and just how happy they had been. So he'd left. Taking the first job that had suited his credentials and guaranteed a visa, because surely an ocean away the ache would heal.

And it had. What had been a sharp, debilitating pain lessened and waned. In time, he was able to lay the memories of that time aside and focus on his future.

(A future he was certain was to be alone and devoid of those kinds of close relationships that seemed destined for disaster.)

This time, he _couldn't_ run away. He had nowhere to go, nor the motivation to leave the life he had carved out here in New York. So when the tequila was half drunk, he pulled on some sweats and a hoodie and headed to the nearest liquor store, thankfully only a few blocks away. If he couldn't escape his feelings, he would at least hide from them for a little.

/

By the third day of Emma's residency, Belle had begun to ask a few questions. Silence was clearly only golden on a temporary basis where this librarian was concerned.

"So, are you planning on heading home soon?"

Emma looked up from her cereal, "Back to my apartment?"

Her friend shook her head, "No Em, you know what I mean."

"Oh," she replied, munching thoughtfully on a spoonful of cornflakes as Belle sat opposite her on the small round table in the corner of the living room. "Dunno," she mumbled, shrugging vaguely.

"You can't hide here forever."

"I'm not hiding!" Emma snapped, dropping her spoon in the bowl with a clang. "I just…"

Belle reached forward and placed her hand over Emma's.

"I don't know what happened, Emma. And you know, if you don't want to tell me then I understand. But running away from your problems is never a great idea."

Her eyes burned with the threat of tears as Emma sucked back a shaking breath. "I don't know what to say to him."

"Killian's reasonable, sweetheart, and you both have a lot riding on this-"

"I think I really hurt him," Emma confessed in a whisper.

Belle's fingers tightened. "And I'm sure it was unintended. You're a good person, Emma."

"You think?" she asked with a smile.

"Of course," Belle insisted, "I know that something more than you expected going on between you two. And I know you're resisting it - that's your choice. But I also know that you are not a quitter, Em. Whatever is going on, I'm sure you can fix it."

"How the hell do you stay so positive, Belle?"

She shrugged. "You're not the only one to have gone through things in their life. I guess my problems just sent me on a different path than yours."

"I guess," Emma mumbled. "What do you think I should do, then?"

"Saying sorry could be a start? I find it's always a good place to begin."

She could do that. She could say sorry and apologize. Words were easy for her. (It was everything else that was hard.)

"Okay," she nodded, offering a small smile to her friend, "I'll see what I can do."

/

"Open up, Jones."

Scowling, Killian sat up too quickly, his head not able to keep pace with his body and causing his brain to feel like it was reverberating in his skull.

"Bugger off Scarlet!" The effort of shouting at Will doubled the ache in his head. _Goddamn rum._

He picked up the offending (and empty) bottle as he rolled off the couch.

"I'm not leaving til ya open up."

Killian groaned as he walked to the kitchen trash can and deposited the bottle. Continuing to ignore his uninvited visitor, he opened the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"Told ya a' wasn't goin'."

Spitting out a mouthful of just drank beer, Killian spun around to see Will stood smugly in the doorway, dangling a silver key from his pinky finger. A silver key with a very familiar lobster charm.

"Emma…" Killian began, immediately confused.

Will grinned guiltily, "Belle swiped it from her purse."

With a wry smile, Killian took another drink. "I knew you were a bad influence on her," he slurred. "What are you doing here anyway?" Pushing past Will, he headed back into the living room, plonking himself back down on the couch and grabbing the remote control.

"Well mate," Will began as he moved to sit on another chair (pausing to remove the small pile of clothes that had begun to accumulate upon it), "Mr. 'Never-takes-a-sick-day' has now been off three days. This afternoon alone I've had 20 of your bleedin' students askin' where ya are."

"I'm fine," Killian barked.

"Clearly not," Will clipped, his eyes lingering on the bottle of beer in his hands.

Truth be told, Killian knew he looked like shit. He hadn't bothered showering the last few days, barely changing one t-shirt and pants for another. His beard had grown from artfully sparse to negligently disheveled. It didn't matter though, it wasn't like he was planning to go out into the world and needed to look presentable "A man can enjoy a drink or two if he wants."

"A drink or two?" Will laughed, "Mate, this place smells like a brewery! Come on, it can't be that bad-"

"What do you mean?" Killian snapped.

Will sighed heavily, "Whatever is going on with you and the lass. I know you had a fight."

"Is that what Emma said?" he asked wistfully.

Shrugging, Will stretched out his legs, "In so many words. She hasn't actually said much of anything to Belle."

"Oh," Killian nodded, frowning. What had he expected? Her to go spill her guts to her friend? He knew her better than that. He took another drink.

"Anyway, it's time to stop moping and sort yourself out."

"I am _not_ moping," Killian retorted.

"Whatever you say mate, but you only drink this much when you're upset."

"How the bloody hell would you know that?"

Killian stared at his friend. He and Will had a relationship with clear boundaries - football and talking about home were what they had in common. They didn't talk about much else and it had been silently agreed between them that that was fine. They weren't what he considered close. (Not that Killian Jones was really close to _anyone_ anymore.)

Will cleared his throat. "Remember last year? The day England got knocked out the World Cup?"

"Aye," Killian nodded, remembering more of the hangover he had the next day.

"Well, you had a skinful. Ten pints I think, plus whisky chasers-"

"I didn't!"

"Mate, I ended up payin' your bill, I think a know the cost of ten pints of bitter! Anyway, you being banged up on the sauce, well, I ended up dragging your arse back here. All the way you were blabbering on. Kept talking about how you never got this drunk. Not for years."

Killian swallowed hard. He knew where this was going.

"You said not since Milah died. You said you only drank when your heart was hurtin'. Then you kept talking about how much you loved her and how she'd helped ya' when your brother passed-"

Raising his hand, Killian gestured for him to stop. "Why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"You were drunk talkin,' mate. And I know how private you are. I figured maybe one day you'd trust me enough to tell me when you had your senses about ya." He smiled, a little sadly, adding a small shrug when their eyes met.

Maybe Will was a better friend than he gave him credit for.

"Anyhow, I had an inklin' when you didn't turn up for work and Belle said something had happened that you might be hidin' in the bottle."

"It's not-" he began, before abruptly stopping. He pressed his head in his hands. "I mean-"

"Mate, if you don't want to tell me, I get it. But I'm here if you ever do. That said, this ain't gettin' you nowhere moping around here. What if that Cora bird had turned up, not me?"

The Yorkshireman had a fair point. Underneath that slack jawed look he often wore was a somewhat wise man.

"Fair point," he replied quietly. Setting the beer bottle aside, he lay back on the couch, running his hand over his messy stubble. "You won't tell her, will you?"

"Belle? About what-"

"Emma," Killian clarified, "I mean about this-" he gestured to his disheveled state and the forgotten beer.

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" he smiled.

And he knew then that Will would not breathe a word to either woman. Killian did not want Emma to know how their argument had affected him. Part of it was stupid male pride, but he also knew that she would blame herself.

"You're a good mate Scarlet, even if you are a tosser."

"I take that as a compliment," Will laughed. "Now come on, let's get ya sorted out and back to work before the whole department implodes."

"I'm sure Gold would love that," Killian joked, actually managing a small chuckle. His expression turned more serious again. "So Emma hasn't said much?"

Will shook his head, "Not so much as I know. Look, whenever me and the missus have a fight, I just-"

"She's not my missus."

Sighing, Will continued, "As I were sayin', I find sayin' sorry works a charm. Even if it weren't your fault, it helps."

"I don't think sorry will fix our… _friendship_ ," Killian gulped.

"Only one way to find out."

 **A/N- another shorter chapter. There is lots of action coming up and I felt this was a good point to break the story. Both Emma and Killian understand the capacity they have to affect one another but aren't able to express it to one another. Clearly, that is going to have consequences! As always thank you for reading and thank you to my lovely beta who corrects my poor punctuation efforts. Reviews and messages mean the world to me, so if you have time to leave one it would be sincerely appreciated.**


	18. Thanksgiving

Coward she was, Emma called in sick to work the next morning and slipped back into the apartment just before twelve, when she was certain Killian would not be there. Indeed, she'd breathed an audible sigh of relief when she found the place silent and empty as expected.

It looked the same as when she had left it half a week ago: her things mingled with his in that way they had become entangled over the period they had shared the home. She headed for the bedroom; a shower and a clean change of her own clothes top priority. Stepping into the bedroom, her heart paused a moment. The air was laced with his cologne. She closed her eyes, the scent bringing back the memory of his lips pressed against the pulse at her neck. Then came the image of her fingers slipping through his hair. Their bodies entangled in the sheets. The forbidden feelings his touch evoked-

Scared, she slammed the bathroom door, desperate to escape her own thoughts.

/

Killian knew she was home before his key even turned in the lock. Later, he told himself he could smell her perfume in the hallway. But it was really more of a gut feeling. A tugging, nagging sensation that burrowed into him. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door.

And there she was, as if she had never left, wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, clinging to one of the small pillows that were scattered over it. Her hair, sweeping over one eye. The hair that he had wrapped around his fingers as he kissed her and pressed his body against hers-

Squeezing his eyes closed, he wished the thoughts away.

Why must he torture himself so?

Tiptoeing past her, he slipped into the bedroom and quietly closed the door.

/

The sound of the coffeemaker woke her. The gentle glug-glug it made when percolating a fresh pot tugged her from a pleasant dream of warm winter evenings wrapped up by the fireside. Eyelids flickering open she made to sit up, stretching to ease the crick in her neck.

"Sorry-"

Her eyes quickly darted to the kitchen area: Killian. Her heart began the sickening race it always began when she was nervous. This was the first time they had been in the same room since… Well, since she'd fucked things up.

"It's okay," she began, peeling the layer of blankets off herself, "I need caffeine anyway-" He'd left the coffee preparation before she had said even a few words, stepping out into the living room, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

"Not about the coffee," he interrupted, a sad smile on his face.

"Oh," she stammered, tucking her hair behind her ears as her mind reeled. He was sorry? What for, why-

"I think I crossed a line, the other day. I pushed you and-" his eyes closed and she watched him take a deep breath, "And I know that's not what you wanted from this… arrangement."

Her jaw fell softly open, her eyelids flickering. "I…"

"So, I am sorry, love. And I'm hoping, really praying, that somehow you can forgive me and we can put all this behind us. Go back to how things were."

Go back? How was that possible when so many things had been said and done? When their dynamic seemed to irrevocably changed? Yet, she found herself nodding in agreement, her fingers toying with the blanket over her legs. "Of course," she muttered. Still even as she spoke, she knew just how deep that lie ran.

In return, he gave a small, soft smile, his dimples barely punctuating his cheeks as his shoulders visibly dropping in relief. "I mean, I know it will be difficult," he paused, his hands rising to drag his fingers through his hair, "And if you need more time and space-"

She found herself standing in front of him, somehow. Then somehow, her arms were wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. If she had to look at him, she would have told him the truth…

"No, it's fine," she replied in a whispered lie.

/

It was her weekly lunch meeting with Belle a few days later. The librarian had arrived with a concerned expression, full of questions about how things had gone with Killian - as apparently three phone calls and a dozen texts were not reassuring enough. Finally, by the time their food had arrived, she seemed satisfied that Emma was fine.

(All of which was lies of course. Like how she had told her friend that she and Killian had had a mature discussion. That she had said they both decided that they were better has friends. Like how she had left out the part about them falling asleep together on the couch. And how unnervingly natural it had felt waking up in his arms. And that she hoped it would happen again.)

"So you're still coming for Thanksgiving?"

"Hmm?" Emma asked, mouth full of pasta and pausing mid-chew.

Belle rolled her eyes, "Emma, I told you about this weeks ago. Dinner at my place, I've ordered a turkey for 12 people already, so I hope-"

"Oh, yeah," Emma smiled, "I forgot. Sure, I'll be there." She took another bite and shrugged away thoughts about how holidays were for families and that she had never really had one. "But you aren't even American, Belle, since when do you celebrate American holidays?"

"Since I love any excuse to play hostess! It'll be great - I have some guys from work coming, a couple of girls from my book club - plus I get to try out all these pumpkin based recipes I've been finding online."

Emma laughed, "I've already said I will be there, no need to lay it on so thick."

"I'm sorry," Belle shrugged, "I'm just a little nervous I guess."

"Belle French, nervous?" Emma teased, happy to have the spotlight away from her own troubles for a while.

Her friend shrugged, "It's just, I'm now starting to feel like this place is home - though God, if I told my father I was planning on staying he'd have a fit - but I have a life here now. And Will." She smiled softly.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I do," Belle whispered, a soft blush spreading over her cheeks, "I hadn't expected it at all-" she looked up and met Emma's eyes. "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I'm going to ask him to move in with me."

"Oh Belle…" Emma's heart swelled with happiness for her friend.

"I think it's time - you don't think I'm rushing things, do you?"

She replied by reaching out her hand and placing it over her friend's, "I think I'm the last person to say someone is rushing something, don't you?"

"Perhaps you have a point," Belle nodded, before her face turned suddenly more serious, "Are you sure things are okay with you and Killian? I feel so responsible."

Emma squeezed her fingers tighter, "Hey, I said they were, didn't I?"

And when Belle went on to speak more about the possibility of Will moving in with her, Emma just kept smiling and tried to ignore the tug at her heart, unable to keep from feeling just a little more than jealous at her friend's unbridled happiness on the subject of cohabitating with her boyfriend.

/

When Will had invited him to spend Thanksgiving with him, he had expected a day down at the pub. So when he was instructed to turn up at Belle's apartment that chilly afternoon, he hadn't actually intended on going inside.

"Killian! You're here!" exclaimed Belle. Smiling, she tugged on his coat, pulling it over his shoulders before he could reply.

"Is Will around?" he asked cautiously, craning his neck to see past the brunette and further into the apartment.

His question was answered when the lumbering form of the Yorkshireman crashed into him, "Jones!"

"Umph," Killian coughed as he righted himself. He could smell the beer already on his friend's breath, clearly he had started without him.

"You ready for dinner?"

Killian raised a questioning eyebrow. And then the penny dropped. He could smell cooking, hear voices coming from the living room-

"This is a … party?"

Belle laughed, "Will, you forgot to say I was making dinner? And didn't Emma say something?"

Taking the time to step inside, Killian brushed off her questions. Thing was, Will was never very good at relaying messages and, well, it wasn't like he had spoken that much to Emma in the past few days. Wordlessly, they had fallen back into their routine of alternating sleeping arrangements. (Not that he slept all that well, so aware of her lying in the next room to him.) He'd assumed she was working today.

Will was closing the door when Killian felt her presence.

"Emma," he smiled as she walked into the hallway where the three stood. She responded with a deer-in-the-headlights startled look - one he had seen before and that he found strangely adorable. A sudden ache caused his fingers to cramp, the desire to reach out and pull her closer to him struck.

"Oh, Killian," she blinked, flustered, cheeks pinking. "I thought you…"

Their eyes met and the understanding passed that they hadn't discussed how they were both spending today. In fact, they had barely discussed anything. "Glad you made it," she nodded, in a strangely detached voice, composure rippling through her as her shoulders straightened.

Killian remembered himself, standing a little taller and smiling briefly in reply before his attention was pulled away by Will stuffing a bottle of American ale in his hands.

"Come on mate, let's leave the lasses to it."

Casting a longing gaze in Emma's direction, his shoulders dropped when he saw she had already turned away.

"Sure, lead the way," he sighed, reluctantly following behind Scarlet as he headed towards the staircase to the roof.

/

It shouldn't have surprised her that Killian was invited. But it did surprise her that Belle hadn't mentioned that little detail. Filing that thought away, Emma had tried to relax somewhat when she reentered the living room, where the table was set with fresh linen and squeaky clean china, and Belle's expat friends made use of every available seating surface.

Thanksgiving.

As a kid it had involved pilgrim-based plays and pumpkin-based stews. Even in the group homes, it was the one time besides Christmas when a special meal happened and everyone at least tried to get along. Now she was older, she tried to enjoy it, tried to place the holiday in the context of happy childhood memories, but hell, she was a cynic. Maybe it was best enjoyed as a day off work and an excuse to drink.

The time from arrival to dinner almost being ready passed quickly as she shared wine with the others. Killian and Will were conspicuous in their absence. She tried not to be curious about where they were, but failed. Even as she shared small talk and polite conversation, her mind couldn't help but wander to thinking of the whereabouts of husband.

/

"Nice view," Killian said as they leaned against the curtain wall that outlined the roof. The buildings in this part of the city were all about the same height and they were afforded a clear view over the park and to the high rises of midtown.

"Aye, it is."

Killian noticed Will seemed nervous, picking at the paper label of the beer bottle and shuffling on his feet.

"What's up, mate?"

Will grinned sheepishly, "Is it that obvious?"

Killian smiled and took a sip of the now lukewarm beer. Late November it may have been, but it was unseasonably warm for some reason. Beneath his leather jacket and sweater, he was already feeling uncomfortably hot - not helped by the flush of heat seeing Emma unexpectedly had provided.

Stuffing his hands in his pocket, Will placed his empty bottle on the low wall and pulled out a small box. Killian's mouth dropped open slightly, his gaze narrowing as he asked, "Is that…"

In reply, Will opened the box and inside lay a sapphire and diamond ring nestled in white velvet. "Do you think I'm mad?"

Killian sucked in a deep breath.

Was marriage madness? How could he comment. It's not like his own situation was real. It wasn't like he had to make the choice to marry, to go through the process of buying a ring, going down on one knee…

"No mate, not mad at all. Belle's a fine lass."

Will looked visibly relieved. "I've been thinkin' about it for so long… But, like, what if she says no?"

It was easy to laugh, seeing the cocksure Yorkshire man finally showing signs of self doubt. But as he was learning, there was a lot more to WIll than crass humour and soccer statistics. He was a lot like Killian, really, with his walls and doubts and insecurities….

Placing a firm hand on the other man's shoulder, Killian replied, "Have you seen the way she looks at you? It's a sure thing."

/

"Emma, come sit next to me!" Belle beckoned, tapping the seat next to her at the crowded table. She complied, sipping her wine as she made her way to her friend, almost choking when Killian and Will suddenly appeared. They looked a little sheepish as they shrugged off their leather jackets. After grabbing a couple more beers from the ice bucket in the kitchen they both took their seats, Will beside Belle and Killian opposite but one of Emma. He was enough out of her eyeline that she could avoid locking eyes with him, but not to stop her being hyper-conscious of his presence as the platters of food were shared out.

Of course everything was delicious. Despite having never even tasted some of the dishes, Belle had approached the task with aplomb. The gathered guests lavished praise on their host, Belle blushed and glanced at Emma who replied with a reassuring smile.

"It's pretty amazing," Emma added, gesturing to the food, "I could never do this."

"Ah, but you have so many other talents," Belle retorted, giving her hand a squeeze, "Tracking people down, research, running in heels."

Emma laughed, relaxing just a little as the plates were cleared away by Will. "And you have a most excellent manservant here."

"He's great, isn't he?" Belle sighed, eyes shining with happiness as she watched him walk back into the kitchen. "Emma," she continued, suddenly serious, "I'm so happy… I wish you could be too."

Swallowing hard, Emma pulled back from a wave of sadness that threatened tears. Happy… Could she ever be that? "I don't think it's possible," she shrugged, thankful for the music and chatter and the distance of a table's width that kept their conversation from Killian's ears.

Belle opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, a sharp whistle rang out across the room.

"Can I have everyone's attention?" It was Will. "I know you're all dyin' to try this pumpkin pie here, but I've an important announcement to make."

Emma turned and gave Belle a questioning look and she shrugged in response. A second later, Will was on their side of the table, taking his girlfriend's hand and pulling her to stand.

"Belle, we've been together for getting on two years now. I never thought I'd ever find a girl as kind, beautiful and amazing as you." There was a quiet chorus of 'ahhs' around the table as Belle noticeably flushed. "And a few days ago you asked me to move in and, love, you made me so happy for that. That you wanted me around…" He paused and dug his hand in his jean pocket, pulling out a small box. Emma felt her throat leap to her throat as Belle's jaw dropped open. "But I'm a selfish bastard, always have been and I knew that would never be enough. Belle, my beautiful Australian rose, I want to be by your side, for better or worse-" he flicked open the lid of the box and slowly sank down on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

There was a pause, maybe just a second, but the room was deadly silent. Emma could practically hear everyone holding their breath. Waiting…

"Yes, yes, of course I will, you lunatic!" Belle cried, swinging her arms around his neck, barely giving him time to place the ring on her finger before she kissed him. Suddenly everyone was clapping and crying out their congratulations-

A lump formed in Emma's throat, her breathing became quick and heavy, the room around her began to close in-

Then a grey mist began to cloud her vision.

/

He was the only one who noticed her slump onto the rest of the dinner guests had crowded around the happy couple, ushering them into the living room area so they could gush and look at Belle's ring in the better light of that space. Killian, however, had been watching her. Holding his breath, waiting for her reaction- He'd wondered if she would be envious. She hadn't had that moment before, had she? Did she even want a proposal (a real one?), did she want that commitment? Every word she had given on the subject said no, but he knew that Emma's true feelings on any subject rarely surfaced beyond the deepest recesses of her being.

"Emma!" he called, darting around to the other side of the table as she lifted her body up again. She was shaking, her skin pale…

"I think I'm going to be sick" she panted, her fingers clinging to his arm as he helped her to stand and moved her towards bathroom near the front door.

His heart was pounding as she stumbled inside,

She pulled the door to and he could hear her coughing and breathing heavily.

"Emma?"

"Just a minute-" she replied.

Worried and confused, he stumbled back to the table to fetch a glass of water, just in time to see the door of the bathroom open again. He thrust the glass into her hand and she smiled weakly.

"I need air," she muttered as she sipped on the water. Her eyes were red rimmed; her cheeks regaining some of their color.

Grabbing their coats from the pile where they had been left, he ushered her out of the apartment and up towards the roof where he had been earlier with Will. The sky was beginning to darken now, amber tones blending with the blue as the sun set in the distance. Killian watched her slowly drink from the glass, her coat slung over her shoulders, her hair twirling around in the soft, evening breeze.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, keeping a safe distance a few feet away. She nodded, turning back to him.

"I just came over all lightheaded and queasy…"

He bridged the distance, standing next to her, looking out over the rooftop wall. "You know, my mother used to suffer from panic attacks when I was a child. I think that's what it was."

She took another sip. "Well if it was, that was my first one."

More silence between them. He wanted to ask why, he wanted to press her further. But he knew she just had that extreme reaction to the engagement and that she'd deny it to the high heavens. "Well, maybe it was just the heat…"

"Maybe," she shrugged before putting down the glass in her hands and slipping her arms into the jacket. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" Nerves tingled in his fingers and toes. "I'm happy to help you, you know-"

"No, Killian. I mean for the way I treated deserve better." Slowly, she turned her head, the sunset behind her lighting a halo around her golden hair. His heart sank into his stomach.

"Emma…" he looked away, "You don't have to do this."

"I want to," she insisted, her voice listless and resigned.

Scrunching up his forehead, he placed his hands on the wall in front of him. "It's the wine talking."

"I haven't drank that much." She was closer to him now, her perfume sweet, her hand next to his on the wall. "Please, just let me do this. I've been wanting to for the past few days. But I guess I was embarrassed, or ashamed…"

/

She was still shaking a little from the panic attack, breathing deep to slow her heart rate, rubbing her fingers against the rough brick to give her some kind of sensation other than sickening fear.

But fear of what? What she couldn't have, or what she did alredy?

"Really, Emma. No need…. I know everyone has the capacity inside to protect themselves, and in you it's very strong. I understand."

Oh God, why was he being so nice about this.

"Still, I need you to know. You didn't deserve that. I am so, so sorry."

The words falling from her lips felt foreign and strange. She knew they resulted from her feeling raw and exposed. That seeing Will's adoration for her friend had sparked something painful inside her, and somehow she felt like baring her soul a little, like seeking some kind of penance, would soothe her.

Glancing at him, a shiver traveled down her spine as she saw the way he was looking at her. It was like he could see something new now, like she had peeled away a layer of herself and he was looking deep within. She felt exposed and naked and pulled her coat tighter around her in reaction.

"I accept your apology, love. Please don't trouble your mind any longer with these thoughts."

And goddamnit she wanted to hug him. Or punch him. She wanted some kind of response beyond the stoic, measured one he was giving her. God, even if he hated her it would have been something. At least it would show her he cared in some way...

"Perhaps we should take you home now? You need rest-"

"And miss out on the pie, no thank you," she quipped, turning away so he couldn't see the disappointment she knew was shining in her eyes. "Let's go back inside."

And without waiting for his reply, she headed back to the staircase.

/

Pie devoured, her body had recovered somewhat and she now calmly sat on the sofa cradling a glass of wine, listening absentmindedly to the others talking. Killian and Will had snuck off to the liquor store to get more supplies and the others were spread out from the kitchen to the living area.

"I have something for you," Belle announced, her hands hidden behind her back.

Emma gave her a confused look. "Something for me?"

Belle placed what appeared to be a photo album in Emma's hands. Cream colored and embossed with some kind of floral pattern, it had an elegant font proclaiming A Day to Remember Forever on the cover. Emma sucked in a breath. She lifted her eyes back to her friend and murmured softly "Is this…?"

"Your wedding-and honeymoon-scrapbook, yes. I finished it last week, but I didn't think you'd want to look at it while you were staying here...that maybe once you went back home to Killian, you'd…" Belle trailed off, and Emma wasn't sure what to make of her friend's good intentions. "You know, you can take it to your next interview…" she shrugged, her eyes a little sadder than Emma was used to.

"Thank you, Belle. It's so elegant. You've done a beautiful job."

As Emma flipped through the plastic lined pages, she had to fight back the tears she felt forming as images of her and Killian - just a few months ago - filled her sight. Them at the courthouse. Her ivory dress, her borrowed shoes… Killian's deep blue suit, which made his eyes all the more swoon-inducing. Their first kiss as husband and wife - taken from Belle's perspective, standing behind Emma and off to the side a bit - wow. Emma remembered how it felt her lips meeting Killian's for the first time, but to see an image of it, made her heart race all over again.

Staying silent though, as she turned the pages she tried to focus on Belle's artistry with the photos and caught some of the details she'd added to the pretty patterned paper. "Is that a lobster sticker?" she finally exclaimed softly.

"Well, who can forget your adventures with Larry?" Belle grinned.

"Indeed." Emma murmured, her mind wandering to the keychain in her coat pocket. And further, back to the moment when she began to realize just what kind of guy Killian was.

A really great one.

Sighing, she placed the album beside her, turning to give her friend a smile. "This is great really… It will really help with Ms. Mills."

A sudden wave of emotion hit, damn she wasn't exactly sure which one. But tears were threatening to fall and she pulled Belle into a hug as a preemptive defense mechanism. "I'm so happy for you," she whispered into her friend's ear, holding her tight until her emotions fell back into check.

Then it became clear. As she clung to her friend, she was suddenly aware. She was jealous.

 _ **A/N: Oh Emma! Not so many chapters left now, will she ever see the light? As always, reviews are super appreciated and motivating!**_


	19. Fracture

_**A/N: I hate apologies at the start of a chapter but I guess I want to acknowledge I have been slow writing this and that I have been trying since I posted the last chapter. My writing confidence is pretty low right now and this is a complicated chapter which I didn't think I could pull of for a number of reasons. But, I've procrastinated enough so here it is, time to move the story on and let you all find out what I have planned...**_

The winter chill descended quickly after Thanksgiving. Within a week, the previously light dusting of snow had been replaced by a thick covering of powdery white flakes which glistened under the ever-shining New York City street lights. Not that Killian had much time to dwell on the weather. Mid-terms were coming up and a myriad of assignments were due, meaning any brief gaps in his normally busy schedule were filled with student conferences and staff meetings. These early mornings and late finishes were a good enough explanation for Emma seeming to slip further and further away from him after their talk on the roof. Or was it that she was purposely distancing herself? To be honest, he wasn't sure. When it came to his wife, he wasn't sure about much anymore.

She'd revealed something to him that night. It was a rawness and a hurt which he was sure was not solely a reaction to what had happened between them. But as briefly as this honesty had appeared, her barriers had once again risen and by the time they took a cab back to the apartment that evening he could see the retreat back into herself. Her demeanor was stiffer, her eyes less honest and somehow duller. Keeping track of Emma's emotions was like walking on quicksand; they shifted and changed with little or no notice.

Yet, it didn't stop him wanting her. The fool he was.

Really, the only certainty was that in one week's time their final, all-important, visa-defining interview would take place. Which meant that perhaps before Christmas was over, he would have a fresh visa affixed to his passport. And he and Emma...

Hell, he didn't know.

/

Really, Emma should have been relieved when Cora Mills had called to schedule another interview session. But that wasn't how she felt when Killian had put down the phone and told her the news. Instead she had felt… uneasy. Not exactly like she was going to have another panic attack, but more like something didn't feel right. Like something had shifted inside herself and all her parts weren't lining up any more. She didn't feel herself any more. Actually, she wasn't sure who Emma Swan actually was now.

Belle was completely wrapped up in her engagement now. This had the twin benefits of distracting Belle from worrying about Emma's own relationship (if she could call it that) and also rendering her oblivious to Emma's new, and most unexpected, affliction.

Jealousy.

It had been subtle to begin with: something scratching at her neck as she watched Will and Belle canoodle and be affectionate with one another. Then, it was feeling her lips rise into a fake, plastic smile because she should be happy for her friend, right? But if she was happy, why did she want to avoid Belle French? Why did the thought of having to talk about weddings and commitment make her heart ache?

Because in a perverted way, she had all of that. Yet it wasn't real, and despite herself she was beginning to understand she wanted it to be.

It had irked her in a way that was so irrational she felt like scratching through her skull and clawing at her brain.

Emma Swan did not do jealous. It wasn't as if she disliked Will, or begrudged Belle her happiness. So why was she lying awake on the couch the night before their interview, unable to sleep as the same thoughts ran over and over in her mind?

So many questions.

But the way Will had looked at Belle. The things he had said when he proposed. The pure joy on her face. And the ring…

Restless, Emma had pulled herself up and wandered towards the shelf where her ring was kept. When she wasn't wearing it, it lived there in an old trinket box; one of the few belongings she had held onto since she was a child. She normally only wore it when out in public, keeping it safely tucked away when in the sanctuary of the apartment. Because it wasn't like it was really hers… it was just a masquerade after all. But tonight she found herself flipping open the small pink box and slipping the cool metal circle onto her finger.

It wasn't fancy like Belle's engagement ring. No sparkly gems making bold statements. But she liked that. For her, big shows were not important. She would have died of mortification to have been proposed to in public-

She blinked back a vision of Killian down on one knee in the middle of Central Park - passers by open mouthed as she cried yes and flung her arms around his neck - quickly snapping shut the trinket box. No, that wasn't her at all… Her thumb ran automatically over the box's smooth surface: faded and worn around the edges from years of sitting on table tops and being shoved into bags and suitcases every time she moved home.

Well, not home exactly. Just places she lived, where she slept and even ate once in awhile.

Slinking back to the sofa, she sat and looked at the ring, tilting her hand so that the heart and crown glinted in the lamplight. Somehow, wearing it made her feel different. She knew it held importance to Killian, with the connection it brought to his mother and his heritage. And that was part of the feeling. But at the same time having a ring on that finger, that significant digit on her left hand, made her feel part of something. And the scary thing was, it was something she never really knew she wanted. Looking at it, she felt a mixture of hope and uncertainty, a kind of trepidation that if this were real - if this was hers and she were really married to Killian - it wouldn't be so bad. In fact, wouldn't it be almost nice? The security, the permanence of it-

Clenching her fist, she tried to hold back the bubbling emotion. She had never imagined that agreeing to marry Killian Jones would have shaken so much of what she had once held to be so certain.

And she knew if she had even suspected that, she never would have let him slip that ring on her finger.

/

The early December wind nipped at the exposed skin of her cheeks as she dodged the small puddles of melted snow that peppered the frigid sidewalk.

She was late. A quarter hour late to be exact. What was supposed to be an easy morning of paperwork had turned into a cross-Manhattan chase via car and foot that had left her on the wrong side of the island and definitely in the wrong clothing for an important visa interview.

Finally, she reached the building. Her boots took the steps to the office building easily as she tried her best to run her fingers through her hair and turn the tangled mess into some semblance of neatness. Dashing into the elevator she pulled a lip balm from her jeans pockets and tucked her crumpled shirt in, barely taking a second to breathe before the elevator doors opened and she was greeted by the sight of Killian Jones: his eyes wide, his shoulders unusually stiff and straight. Their eyes met at the same time, his expression softening, his shoulders dropping a little in clear relief. And she couldn't ignore the little spark that seemed to light up behind his eyes.

/

Of course today his phone would choose to stop working. Pacing the corridor outside Cora Mills' offices he ran over every possible reason why Emma could be late. Traffic, a road block or an accident- It was these thoughts that sent him heading back to the bank of elevators and slamming at the call button, anxiously tapping his foot against the tiled floor as he waited. Taking a deep breath as the elevator doors opened-

And there she was. Safe, windswept and pink cheeked and as utterly gorgeous as ever. Somehow he fell for her a little bit more as her eyes flashed in surprise and she stumbled forward, tripping on the elevator threshold as she mumbled some excuse about work and a client-

"Shhh," Killian murmured into her ear, grabbing hold of her arms to right her. "No need to apologize."

Emma seemed to hesitate for a second, almost eye to eye, close enough to kiss-

"Ah, Mrs. Jones, you made it." Both turned at the silky sound of Ms. Mills voice coming from the corridor that led to her office. "Shall we begin?" Her smile was somewhat icy as she gestured towards the door with her perfectly manicured hands.

Turning back, Killian murmured, "Come on love," before quickly pressing a kiss against her cold cheek and entangling his fingers in hers.

/

A little breathless from her dash to the office, Emma tried to settle in a leather armchair beside Killian. It was the same chair from the last interview, but it felt more imposing and uncomfortable on this visit. Casting Killian a weary glance, she tried to calm herself. Her cheek still tingled from his kiss. Her heart still raced from the closeness of their bodies as she fell out of the elevator.

"Well, let's begin shall we? When did your relationship first turn romantic?"

Her mouth was dry, her tongue sticking to the roof of her palette. She toyed with the ring on her finger.

But her mind was helplessly blank.

Beside her, Killian cleared his throat. "I think it's fair to say there was a spark from the very beginning."

Cora peeled back a few sheets from the case file in front of her. "But you said when you met Ms. Swan was rather drunk-"

Emma rolled her eyes and bit back a smart-assed response. Thankfully Killian was quick with his reply.

"True, but I was… drawn to her. I wanted to get to know her better."

His hand bridged the small gap between the chairs, finding her fingers and entwining them with his. His touch was warm and comforting, her heart beating erratically as he ran his thumb against the back of her hand.

"And you, Mrs. Jones?"

Tilting her head, her eyes lingered on Killian's jawline and the pink swell of his lips-

"I wasn't so inebriated that I missed how attractive he is." She shifted her gaze back to the older woman. "Of course I wanted to get to know him better."

Killian tightened his fingers. "And once we did meet again - our mutual friend Belle arranged that - it was clear there was a spark from the beginning."

"Yeah," Emma whispered, thinking back to that first real meeting in the bar, "I knew there was something there right from the beginning."

There was a scratching of a pen as Cora scribbled a few notes on the legal pad in front of her. "Can you tell me more about your wedding?"

"It was a small affair, neither of us have any close family," Killian explained. "Just our two best friends at the City Hall."

Images flickered in Emma's mind. The ceremony. The first kiss-

"I'm not one for extravagant displays. So it was perfect for me." She looked at Killian and smiled, seeing her expression mirrored in his. "Afterwards we had dinner and cocktails and dancing-"

"Aye, it was perfect," Killian whispered, bringing up their entwined hands and placing a kiss against her knuckles.

And it hit her: it had been perfect. How had she just realised it now?

/

Listening to the questions about their wedding and honeymoon, Killian couldn't help but relive those moments. Had he ever expected that this arrangement and the initial attraction would ever had transpired into what they were now faced with? If he were honest, yes. If he were truly honest, part of the reason he had gone along with Belle's somewhat crazy suggestion was because he had felt that pull to Emma and a need to know her more. It was something he hadn't felt since Milah.

And now he was hopelessly in love with her.

"Okay, now for some questions about your day to day life. Who gets up first?"

"Emma-"

"Me-"

They both laughed as they spoke at the same time.

"I'm an early riser," she explained as Killian remembered the mornings waking up to an empty bed and mourning her. "A habit from my childhood. In group homes, the last one to the shower had an ice bath."

"While I prefer to linger in bed and hit the snooze button a couple of times," Killian admitted wryly. "And I have no fine excuses, I guess I'm just lazy-"

"No you're not," Emma interjected, tilting her body towards his. "I just get up so early you feel guilty."

"Or maybe I'm just selfish and want to tempt you to stay in bed as long as possible?"

Her cheeks pinked as he spoke. He hoped she knew that was the truth.

/

Across the desk, Cora Mills straightened her back gave them a cool smile.

"Now, I'd like to delve a bit more into your intimate relationship. What form of contraception do you use?"

"Condoms," they answered simultaneously, a little too quickly, a hot flush driving up Emma's cheeks.

"Any reason for that choice?"

Emma hesitated, "Simplicity, I guess?" Immediately she decided that sounded really dumb. "I mean it's the least invasive form…"

Cora mumbled, 'mmm-hmmm' as she wrote a few words. A cool fear flooded Emma's body.

"So are you looking to have children any time soon?"

Emma found herself shrugging, looking to Killian for guidance, because what could she say?

"Right now we are just enjoying one another," Killian replied, once again tightening his fingers around hers, "But maybe one day-"

Emma felt herself take a sharp intake of breath and immediately felt a pang of fear that she had given something away.

Ms. Mills turned to her with a small smile, "And you, Emma, are you considering children?"

Emma glanced at Killian, imagining a tiny boy with those same dimples and sparkling blue eyes and she could only reply with the truth, "I can't imagine anything more wonderful than having a child with this man."

/

They'd never discussed it. Of course they hadn't, this wasn't real-

So why did her comment on having his child have such an effect on him? Could he deny that it had crossed his mind? Could he pretend that he hadn't thought she would be a wonderful mum?

Certainly not. But they were feelings buried deep - subconscious ones - only now rising to the surface. His heart panged.

He not only wanted her love. He wanted all of her: her soul, her body, her everything-

He was shook from his thoughts by another question.

"Have you ever had an argument that resulted in one of you sleeping in another room? Who, and which room?"

"Yes," Emma nodded, her body stiffening in the chair. Killian could feel the sharp pinch of her nails into the back of his hand. "A couple of months ago. We had a fight and I slept on the couch."

A ball of anxiety formed in Killian's gut. She was talking about the fight that had first sent her hurtling out of the apartment. The fight after they had finally been intimate.

"And what was this fight about?'

Emma sighed, loosening her fingers from Killian's and shrugging her shoulders lightly. "It was all me. I'm stubborn, always have been. We'd… made love." Killian could hear the shiver in her voice. "And I was cold towards him afterwards."

"Why?" Cora asked, her voice low and soft.

The pause as he waited for her response was almost heart breaking. She released her hand from the last of his grip and placed it in her lap.

"Because I have a problem with being wanted. With being loved. I guess it's from my childhood or something-" Emma quickly shook her head. "Anyway, I tend to hurt the people I love by being stubborn. And I picked a fight with him over something so stupid I can't even remember... So I tried to give him some space."

"And how do you respond in these situations - I'm presuming this was not a one time occurrence?" Cora continued, directing her next question at Killian.

He swallowed hard. If Emma was tinging her answers with honesty, perhaps he should do the same. "It hurts. I can't deny that." An echo of the pain he felt every time she pulled away washed over him. "But the reason I love Emma, isn't because it's easy, but because it's worth it. We both have our past pains and they certainly have made us both who we are. But the fact that Emma lets me behind all the barriers she has built up - even if they manifest again from time to time - means everything. All I want to do is to love her, so when she pulls away… yes, it does hurt." Silence hung painfully in the air again as Cora made notes. He was acutely aware of Emma's breathing beside him. Had she realized that his little speech was perhaps more for her than Ms. Mills? God he hoped so.

"Sorry," Emma whispered, so quietly he barely heard it. His eyelids sank closed and he took another labored breath. The atmosphere felt heavy and full of bitter expectation. He needed to lighten the mood.

"I must say that Emma makes quite the amazing apology breakfast. And we don't let these things linger on our minds."

And that was a lie.

/

"Do you or your husband have any scars or tattoos?"

Emma turned, her hand reaching out for the old wound on his cheek, "This one here - Killian got it when he was a kid playing with his dad's razor." She remembered that from the cards they had written the first night she had came to his apartment. How he had snuck into his father's bathroom and tried to shave, resulting in a trip to the ER and a permanent reminder of the moment. She caught herself as she was about to run her finger along the faint, silvery line. It suddenly felt too intimate.

"And she has small scar on the back of her shoulder, about the size of a nickel, from a mole removal some time ago."

Emma's hand went automatically to her shoulder. She hadn't mentioned that to him - it had been removed when she was barely out of her teens. Damn, she'd almost forgotten about it herself. When had he seen it? Had it been a casual moment in the apartment? Or a more intimate moment-

"And what about personal habits? Does your husband have a particular brand of soap or cologne he prefers?"

"Polo Blue," she answered automatically, seeing the familiar bottle on the bathroom countertop in her mind's eye. Her scent memory simultaneously brought back the times she had smelt in on the pillows in their bed, or lingering in the bathroom after he had dressed. She smiled as she thought of tasting it on his neck as she had laid kisses their during the few moments she had allowed herself to let go and really want him. She knew that scent would be associated with him forever more.

"And you Mr. Jones - can you tell me one of your wife's habits?"

She looked at Killian, curious as to what he would choose to say.

"Hot chocolate with a dash of cinnamon is her drink of choice. I wasn't overly fond of it at first, but when your wife's lips are tinged with the stuff, you tend to change your opinion."

Emma blushed deeper.

/

Listening to how long the final judgment would take, shaking hands, linking arms with her husband as they walked back to the elevators-

It was all a blur.

Because she couldn't stop reliving the last hour in her head. Every answer a lie laced with honesty. Each word he spoke, more for her than their interviewer.

Torturous thoughts inhabited her mind. Reminders of every reason why she pulled away from Killian. People lie. People let you down. People hurt you-

But more painful, more raw and honest that these long held mantras was the undeniable truth that she didn't care. That every word of affection she had spoken was true. That every detail of Killian's testimony had further worked him into her heart.

Denying it any more was pointless. Avoiding her feelings: impossible.

 **A/N: I love to hear what you think. A review or a message means the world to me.**


	20. Trust

Leaving Ms. Mills office, the pair walked silently back to the elevator. The interview had gone well. For over an hour they had knocked out strong answers to every question. It had felt natural and easy… well, not exactly easy. The emotional truths that had been exposed had seen to that. And now Emma didn't know what to say to him.

She had never been more nervous than when the steel doors closed and left her and Killian alone for the first time as they descended to the first floor. As the metal box seemed to move with frustrating slowness, Emma's heart seemed to beat out every millisecond.

Her head hurt. There were too many thoughts fighting for attention inside her brain. Her life was somersaulting around her and the only thing she could think to do was to the cling to the man at her side. She wanted to speak. She needed to say something-

But she was scared.

She loved him and she wanted him and she was done lying and pretending that she didn't care.

And what if it was too late?

/

If only he could read Emma's mind. Yes, he could watch her body language and try and decipher the thoughts that passed behind her pretty green eyes but overall he was clueless. The silent elevator journey had wound him tighter than a bowstring. She hadn't spoken since they closed the door of Cora's office. Killian himself daren't utter a word.

He was worried.

Everything that had been said over the past hour had driven him to only one possible conclusion: she did have feelings for him. Strong ones that possibly matched his own-

(Could he dare believe she might love him too?)

But now he didn't know how to broach the topic without pressuring her or making her feel uncomfortable. He'd seen how Emma reacted to situations in which she felt out of control before and reliving that experience was not something he relished.

So he stayed quiet, placing the ball squarely in her court.

/

It had only taken a minute to hail a taxi. Not enough time for the silence to become awkward.

(Even though her mind was screaming at her to say something.)

They climbed inside, leaving a gap between them - though the backseat of a New York City taxi could hardly be considered spacious. Her hand rested lightly on the seat. She was so keenly aware of his presence beside her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She could feel her pulse just below the surface of her skin pounding away.

Her throat was dry. Her stomach tied in knots.

Why was this so difficult?

Her fingers splayed out wide, inching closer to his...

/

The grey streets passed by, consumed by a fine mist of late afternoon rain. The windows of the cab were misting over, obscuring the view, yet Killian's eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the foggy glass. Fear was still holding him back from saying anything.

But his hand inched towards hers, unconsciously almost, ghosting along the cracked leather. He was craving her touch, or any contact to resume the connection between them.

He was jolted from his trance when he felt the searing sensation of her hand quickly grasping his, intertwining their fingers. Killian's breath hitched and he swung to face her. Simultaneously, she did the same - her lips slightly parted, a little furrow between her brows-

Her eyes wide and clear, seemingly bordering on tears as they glistened with the light from the passing cars and street lamps.

What he saw in her eyes was everything he had hoped he would one day. Tenderness. Warmth. And perhaps even what he wanted (and feared) the most-

Love?

His heart swelled in his chest and before he could process this new information, this new piece of the puzzle of Emma Swan, she leaned in with her whole body and crashed her lips into his.

And just like that, all tension and worry melted away in a whirl of soft lips and probing kisses.

/

Kissing him was, in a way, the cowards way out. But Emma knew it was as much a delaying tactic as it was formed from a desperate need to feel close to him.

Such passioned want seemed to flow between them that the ride back to the apartment passed in a blur. Retaining a modicum of restraint was possible only by the circumstance of a tiny back seat and a taxi driver as an audience.

They seemed to dissolve into one another. She was burning up under her winter layers. His hands cupped her face, thumbs running over her cheekbones as she tilted her head and deepened the kiss. She let him lead, content for once to not worry about the meaning of every action-

Until the clearing of the cab driver's throat announced that they had arrived.

They paused, inching away from each other. She knew her cheeks must be as flushed as his. His eyes were bright-

And damn. He was smiling.

/

He tossed a twenty at the driver, barely registering the thanks for the huge tip. She was outside the car before he had made his way around it. She stood clutching her purse, a small, almost shy, smile smile just flickering at the corners of her mouth. And there was something else in her eyes that he had never seen before. Something that looked like hope.

This time, he took her hand. She accepted without a word, pressing her fingers against his as they took the few steps to the apartment. Another moment of silence. Another chance for him to worry as they took the staircase upwards.

His hands shook as he reached for the key in his pocket. His fingers caught the ridges of the key and it slid between them as he pulled it free just as they reached the door.

He was so goddamn nervous - hadn't felt even close to this way about being alone with a woman since the first time he'd had a girl in his bedroom alone as a teenager.

And this was so much more.

The key slipped from his grasp as he pointed it at the lock. The bundle clattered as it landed on the floor, the sound echoing wildly in the bare hallway.

And she laughed.

A small, nervous laugh that made his lips twist into a smile as she quickly scooped up the keys and slipped by him to open the door.

/

Emma floated on a bubbling cloud of delirium sent her hurtling into the apartment. She couldn't get the key into the lock quickly enough to satisfy the need inside her.

She needed to kiss him.

Grasping his face, she resumed their earlier embrace as the door swung shut behind them - the eerie afternoon silence of the apartment punctuated by their heavy breaths.

She was swimming in his adoration, drowning in him as he pushed her back against the door and poured passion against her lips-

And then her phone rang.

The insistent vibrations rang out in her jeans pocket until she had to pull away and take a look at who was calling. Killian continued to layer torturous kisses down her neck as she pushed her fingers into the pocket and pulled out the offending implement. BELLE flashed up on the screen.

Sighing, Emma pressed a hand against his chest, gently pushing him away as she mouthed her friend's name, Killian nodding lightly in understanding. Emma's eyes lingered on his slightly swollen lips as she pressed answer.

"Hey Belle," she said breathily, trying to sound as natural as possible.

"Emma!" she squawked down the phone, her voice ringing in Emma's ears as she continued, "How did it go? Was is okay? Did you stay calm? How's Killian-"

"Geez Belle, take a breath, okay?" Emma smiled faintly, meeting Killian's eye and feeling a flush of heat pass over her cheeks. She turned a little aside, catching her breath. At the same time Killian had taken a step backwards and was peeling off his wool overcoat. An unfamiliar warmth was beginning to spread over her body. "It was fine, I think. We'll know soon enough." She just knew her friend was going to ask another million questions so she pre-empted her by adding, "Look, can we talk later, I'm just in the middle of something."

Down the line Belle chuckled, "Of course, I'm just- Wait, what do you mean in the middle of something? You're not back at work already are you?"

Damn her inquisitive nature. "No… I just got back to the apartment and…"

"Is Killian there?" Belle asked in an almost whisper.

"Yes…"

"Say no more. Call me later. Wait, in the morning, I can definitely wait until the morning."

"Belle…" she began, but before she could continue the line went silent.

Slowly she stuffed the phone back into the pocket, shrugging off her coat as she turned back to face Killian.

His face was flush with something that looked like hope as he stood somewhat awkwardly a few feet away from her. And damn all she wanted to do was close the gap and tumble back into his embrace.

But the rational part of her knew that before they could do any more, they needed to talk.

"Coffee?" he asked, seemingly reading her mind, an awkward little shoulder shrug accompanying his words.

"Sure," Emma nodded, biting her lip.

It was now or never.

/

Killian scratched at the scruff on his chin as he waited for the kettle to boil. A fine mist of steam was already rousing from the spout by the time he had the two mugs prepared with a spoonful of instant coffee in each. He knew she preferred the coffee machine but this was just quicker and right now he couldn't stand the thought of any more delays.

He quickly prepared both cups - her's with two sugars and cream, his black, one sugar. His hand shook a little as he stirred the drinks.

Today was the day he had been hoping for - when she would consider opening up to him in some way. But now it had approached, he couldn't pretend he wasn't a little scared.

"Hey," she chirped as he reentered the living room holding both mugs. She looked at least as unsure as he was - and equally she seemed to be trying to hide it. "Do you wanna…" she looked at the couch, shrugging in an unexpectedly shy manner.

"Yeah," he replied, handing her her drink as they both sat, silence enveloping them.

It seemed impossible that five minutes earlier their lips were pressed together and their hands had been locked on each other's bodies- Now Kilian felt awkward and strange. He didn't know what to say as he pressed the warm rim of the mug against his lips.

"Did you mean it?" Emma asked suddenly, making Killian start and almost spill his coffee.

He turned his head to hers, eyes lingering on her profile as she stared ahead, one hand holding the cup and the other balled in a fist in her lap, "Did I mean what?" he whispered, a little perplexed - this was not a question he had been expecting.

She seemed to hesitate, knuckles whitening as she clutched the handle of the mug tighter.

"Everything?" she asked, trembling.

Beside her, he sat still, running over the events of the interview in his mind, recognizing only then with some clarity just how much honesty had came through in his answers.

"Aye," Killian he admitted in a low, gravely voice, barely above a whisper. He had meant every sentiment that had been expressed. "Emma-" he paused when her eyes flashed to his in surprise, her body curving away from his, just enough for him to notice. He sucked in a sharp breath, instantly coming to the conclusion that this moment of openness was premature, that he'd been mistaken and she wasn't really ready for any of this-

/

It was a lot to process.

She'd thought it was real.

Everything he had said had been real.

But hearing the confirmation was something else.

Pulling back from him had been an instinctual reaction honed over many years. The pain in his eyes though, as she leaned away from him had taken her by surprise.

He cared. He really did care about her.

"Killian, I… "

He met her eyes again. She reached forward and placed the mug on the table in front of them, he copied and placed his hands in his lap. Then, composing herself, she took a deep breath, stilling her emotions before revealing what had never been much of a secret anyway-

"I love you," she choked in rapid fire syllables, her heart racing as the truth of what she was saying hit her. "I'm tired of pretending it doesn't matter - that I don't love you and that this is all still just a business arrangement…"

Before she could say more, Killian was grasping her face between his hands, searching her eyes-

"You mean that?"

She nodded, tears forming at the corners of her eyes, her own hands finding their way to him, resting gently on his thighs as he continued to study her face. "Yes."

"Because if you're not sure-"

She pressed her lips to his, wanting him to stop talking. Actually, needing him to stop talking and make him understand that she meant everything. Every word. Everything he said to Cora that seemed to drip with genuine affection and devotion. Everything that came out of his mouth in that room made her heart swell and break all at once.

The kiss evolved as their lips melted into one another, telling tales that can't be shared with words. Fingers slid into hair, the gap between them disappeared until she was half in his lap, pressed up against his chest, pouring out her feelings in a kiss.

Gasping for air, she finally paused, pressing her forehead against his.

"I love you," she repeated, feeling a smile form on his lips as she cradled his face. "And I'm finally not afraid to say it."

/

He wanted to pinch himself.

He'd hoped for her to open up; he'd maybe even expected some encouraging words-

But this?

"I never thought-" he began, quickly changing his mind and pressing another quick kiss against her lips. The time for self doubt was clearly now passed. "What I mean to say is, I love you too. I have for months."

It felt like a weight being lifted from his shoulders, finally being honest with her about how he felt. "I tried to hide my feelings. I just didn't think you felt the same way…"

There was a moment's silence as they both seemed to digest their matching revelations.

"Now what?" she asked tentatively… seemingly not wanting to break the perfect moment of their declared love.

And he too was scared to say what needed to be put forth between them. Love was one thing, but trust - that was another.

Entwining their fingers, he pulled her hands into his lap, meeting her eye to eye. "Can you… Will you trust me with your heart Emma?"

She was breathing heavily, her eyelashes began to flutter-

"I know you've been hurt in the past-"

"But not by you. You've never hurt me, Killian. I see that now I've been judging you based on the actions of other people and if things were reversed I would hate that. And I'm such a goddamn hypocrite-"

"Shhh," he hushed, running a calming hand over her cheek. "Stop beating yourself up, love. None of that matters now."

Her heavy breathing eased as she melted into his touch.

"Can you trust me?" he asked again.

This time she replied without hesitation.

"Yes."

 **A/N: Thank you for being wonderful readers and leaving such supportive reviews. Thank you to Jenni, my lovely beta, and to the wonderful Tiffani for her excellent advice and suggestions.**


	21. Real

It didn't have to lead to the bedroom.

She could have stayed there on the couch, holding him as they sat for hours and that would have been fine, lovely… wonderful, even.

But Emma couldn't keep her lips from his mouth or her hands from his skin.

"Emma-" he panted as she slipped further onto his lap until her knees nestled against the back of the couch. His hair was mussed up from her fingers and she knew her own appearance hadn't fared much better. The top few buttons of her shirt had become undone when he pressed kisses against her neck and she could tell her lips were already kiss-swollen.

Not that she cared.

Her current concern was amazement at exactly how much pleasure Killian Jones was able to pull from her.

You see, everything between them was a little familiar, but at the same time new. Previous touches and attentions had been marred by layers of emotional restraint - by a little voice inside that said it means nothing, don't let yourself feel-

Now that voice was silenced and she was finally opening herself up-

Now everything was amplified tenfold.

Finally, she could let herself just feel.

Finally, it was time to give in to what she always really wanted.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered in his ear.

/

His body wrapped around hers like that's how it belonged.

And he did belong to her.

He'd hung his heart on his sleeve the first time she had let him glance behind her barriers. There was never going to be a way he wouldn't fall hopelessly in love with this woman.

And she loved him.

She loved him.

That simple declaration had made his heart sing and his world and future open up in a way he hadn't imagined possible.

She loved him.

/

It wasn't smooth or soaked in passion. Instead, this time their lovemaking was of a more gentle sort - punctuated by shy smiles and light laughter as they worked out their adoration for one another between the cotton sheets.

She'd never allowed herself to appreciate before just how well he seemed to know her body, the ease with which he cradled and cherished her took her breath away.

Peeling away her clothes, he reverently paid attention to every part of her, pressing kisses from head to toe as she shivered, partly from the chill in the air, but mainly from the wonder that was him-

Killian, the man who loved her. The man who had stumbled into her life under outrageous circumstances and now she understood she could not be without.

He was wonderful, lovely, so tender and caring-

(A few times she almost shed a tear - a happy one - because who'd have thought that Emma Swan would ever have anything like this?)

Lying back against the pillows of their bed, she indulged in his attentions. With her legs wrapped around his hips, they kissed and touched and loved- Until time seemed to tighten somehow and if she didn't have him right then she knew she would scream.

"Make love to me," she asked while cradling his face between her palms; rubbing her thumbs over the light stubble that she loved him wearing.

/

Somehow, it was like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

Throughout the months he had known her, Emma has seem weighed down by some invisible burden. It pulled at the edges of her smiles. It dulled the melody of her laughter. It caused her to shrink away from any moment of happiness.

But now she seemed to float; her spirit was shining out as clearly and brightly as her now-easy smiles. It was, all at once, wonderful and beautiful and-

(He couldn't help the small swell of pride in his chest that told him he had helped her reach this point-)

And when kisses and touches were no longer sufficient, she asked him sincerely to take her.

And as he pressed her thighs apart and lay more kisses along her jaw and finally - finally - began to move inside her he was pretty damn sure that this feeling must be what they call bliss.

It was easy, gentle; without hesitation.

Their bodies rocked together in a lazy motion. He felt her toes curl as he pressed deeper inside and concentrated on the ways that would make her body sing. When their eyes met, he saw the deep pink blush on her cheeks and the the unguarded, joyful expression on her face and he knew that there would be little else in his life that would compare to these precious moments with his lovely Swan.

/

She let him take the lead.

Now wasn't the time for battles for dominance and really, it was a small way of showing him she really did trust him.

It was brief. Both were too wound up with emotion and want to need more. He made love to her slowly, but with purpose. She could see he was searching her reactions, trying to show his love in this most intimate way. So she showered him in smiles and looks and breathy moans-

"Killian," she cried when he shifted her hips and pulls their bodies closer.

And it didn't take much to push her over the edge. She gave in willingly and hopefully.

And as she clung to him as their mutual highs ring out, she finally let herself accept that this is real.

/

"Are you awake?" he whispered, one arm wrapped around her waist, their fingers entwined.

"Yeah," she replied, "I can't sleep."

"Me either," he admitted, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. He can practically feel her smile in response. "I'm too…"

And he wants to say excited… but maybe that's just a little too sentimental-

"Me too," she replies, understanding him better than maybe he knew himself.

A silence followed. Not awkward or shy. Just an easy, quiet moment where he listened to her breathing and revelled in the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers.

"So I guess Belle is going to be feeling quite proud of herself."

"I guess," he chuckled, imagining to looks on their friend's face.

"We should get them a gift for their engagement," Emma sighed as she shifted a little in his embrace. The movement released the scent of her shampoo. It was fruity and fresh and just her.

"Together?" he asked tentatively.

"Together," she confirmed, turning back her head so she could look into his eyes.

"Aye that's a good idea." Kilian ran his tongue along his bottom lip. He had something to ask her, but maybe it was too soon… "Emma, I, well I wasn't sure about asking you before but it's the faculty Christmas party next week and I was hoping-"

"I'd love to come," she promised. Quickly she turned in his arms until they were face to face, noses almost pressed together. "I would really love to come…"

He sighed happily, letting his hands rest on her hip. "It's going to be a little complicated explaining things, isn't it?"

"Do we even have to?" she began, biting her lip, "I'm still your wife, we can't just go and change that overnight."

"Paperwork," he whispered.

"Something like that," she replied.

His heart skipped a beat. "And then what happens-"

She quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"And then… I guess then we play it by ear."

He smiled in relief, running his hand over her shoulder as he dropped his forehead against hers.

"I didn't think Emma Swan came in 'play it by ear' mode," he teased.

She chortled softly, placing her palm on his chest, "It's a new development," she explained. "Maybe the first of many."

As as he stole another sweet kiss, he realized just how elated he was at the prospect of all these new experiences with Emma by his side.

/

Somehow they had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning. They'd talked for hours, it seemed - punctuated by moments of silence and kisses and touches. They talked about mundane things like papers he had to review for class and the stack of cases that were currently waiting on her desk. But at some unknown point exhaustion had taken over.

Waking alone was a little surprising, but Emma realized his side of the bed was still warm when she reached out her hand on the sheets. She was just brushing her hair back behind her ears when he reentered the room, carrying a tray stocked with a pile of toast, freshly cut fruit and two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Morning, love," he greeted as he set down the tray, climbing onto the bed and placing another gentle kiss on her temple.

"Breakfast in bed - I could get used to this."

"And so you should," he quipped as he picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. "Nothing is too good for my wife."

Emma's stomach dropped - in the good way - at that title. It was the first time he had called her so since, well, since everything had changed.

"Yeah," she replied breathily, following his lead by selecting a slice of melon. "You're such a cheeseball," she continued, trying to disguise her emotions behind the fruit.

"And you're okay with that?" he asked, tossing her a sideways glance as she took a bite.

"You know, I really think I am."

/

He'd had this crazy worry that she would be gone when he returned from the kitchen.

Maybe he had imagined the whole thing? Maybe he'd came home alone and drank himself into a stupor with that rum that sits under the sink. Maybe he was delusional. Maybe he'd finally lost his mind-

But no, there she was, nestled beneath the snow white comforter, relaxed and beautiful as ever.

He didn't have to pinch himself to prove that this was no vision.

Emma Swan loved him, and that was all that mattered now.

/

They called in sick the next day.

And the one after that.

There was just too much that needed to made up for - not exactly lost time, but adjustments to be made and Emma was happy to indulge her selfish urges for once in her life. Giving into a few days of bliss was easier than she thought with Killian's lips whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

They ate take out and watched movies.

They took a walk in Central Park and saw the first flakes of winter snowfall.

They trawled Whole Foods together, pushing a cart like a genuine, real life couple-

(Which they were now, she had to remind herself-)

It was so strange yet so natural. Looking back, her stubborn determination to not give into her love for him seemed ridiculous now.

He was wonderful. It was wonderful being loved by him. It was like a warm comforting blanket, hugging her tight, making her feel safe and wanted - and most of all, not alone.

On the second night, he made bangers and mash. It arose from a conversation about what he missed from home in England and Emma's revelation that she had never tasted the dish. Well, Killian couldn't have that.

"And?" he asked after she had devoured a few mouthfuls.

"It's good," she admitted, until he widened his eyes, "Okay, really good."

The buzzer for the intercom chose that moment to chime.

"I'll get it," he offered, quickly pressing the call button. "Hello?"

"Delivery for apartment 3B," came the gruff reply.

"Come on up," Killian said, unlocking the door and waiting for the courier to make it up the stairs. "Are you expecting something?" he asked.

Emma shook her head, all at once confused and a little concerned.

A minute later there was a knock at the door and Killian opened it, signing on the offered clipboard before being given an envelope.

He returned to the table, sliding his thumb under the seal.

"Do you think it's…?" he asked, pausing to look deep in her eyes.

The letter.

Her heart began to race.

"Already?"

He shrugged, before continuing, quickly pulling out a sheath of crisp white paper. He was quiet as his eyes scanned the document. Emma thought her heart would burst in anticipation.

And then he smiled. A wide, bright smile that lit up his whole face.

"Killian?"

When he looked up she knew the answer without him saying. She grabbed the paper from him, quickly reading it, swallowing back the lump in her throat-

-after careful consideration…. there can be no doubt…. clearly in love… genuine relationship… recommend for immediate visa transferal-

She skipped over half the words but within seconds she had enough for her own confirmation.

It was over. The worry and the waiting-

This whole crazy idea had worked.

(In more ways than one.)

"I guess you're stuck with me now," joked Killian when she looked back up at him.

"Ditto," she laughed (slightly worried right now that her heart could possibly burst with happiness).

"You're still wearing your ring," he said unexpectedly, taking her hand in his, "I just noticed." She wrapped her fingers in his own and sighed deeply and tugged him around her her side of the table.

Her thumb ran over his ring finger.

"Yeah, I guess I am. But so are you."

Killian chuckled nervously. "I've never taken it off," he mumbled, his eyes dropping to the floor.

And the she suddenly remembered that was completely true. Somehow she'd not let herself notice, but Killian had wore that ring on his left hand every day since the ceremony at the courthouse. All through those months of uncertainty and tension and (damn) her running away from her own feelings-

She felt a lump rise in her throat.

"Killian-"

A thought formed in her mind, something she new was right and certain and true-

"Maybe you won't ever have to?" she whispered.

His hand tightened around hers as he lifted them to his lips and he placed a kiss on his mother's ring.

"Now that would be a fine dream, indeed."

Emma smiled broadly before she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and kissed him senseless.

(Yeah, she liked being able to do that now).

 **A/N One more chapter and then we are done. Thank you to Jenni for being an awesome beta and to everyone who has read and reviewed - you guys rock.**


	22. Unbroken

Yes. Your eyes do not deceive you. Nine months later I have finished it! HUGE thanks to my wonderful beta nickillian /Ztofan and this is dedicated to you!

Despite the fact that they had gotten engaged at a Thanksgiving party, Belle still insisted she organize another get together to celebrate, and to be their _official_ engagement party. She loved throwing parties. One of the first differences Emma had noticed between the two women was Belle enjoyed being the consummate hostess, where Emma would rather sit in the corner with a bottle of liquor.

But not today, as it turned out.

Somehow, she and Killian had managed to keep the most recent developments from their friends. They had shared news of their letter with them the day it had arrived, but other than that they had kept quiet. After discussing how they would break the news, the pair had decided to wait a little. Their friends had just got engaged and they had no desire to steal their thunder. It could wait.

And, truth be told, they were still working out just how this new thing between them was going to work.

But, she hadn't taken off her ring since the interview and here she was, a week later, almost glued to Killian's side, trying to be subtle but, from the looks Belle was giving her, failing.

They'd taken over the back room at a bar for the engagement bash, about five blocks from Belle's apartment, a real local's place that did excellent nachos and had kinda been their regular haunt when they were taking a rare night out. It was there, beside the jukebox as Killian went to refill their drinks that Belle cornered her.

"What the hell is up with you and Killian?"

Emma smiled, a little taken aback at her friend's words (Belle being one of the most softly spoken women she knew).

"What do you mean?" she shrugged, turning back to the machine. It was one of those old-style ones that you had to manually flip the cards over. She wanted to pick something British that she hoped Killian would like.

"Cut the crap, Emma Swan. You've been making goo-goo eyes at your husband all night and barely left his side."

"We're just… relieved," she lied. She spotted a song by Police and smiled, punching in the number.

Belle folded her arms and gave her friend her best stern look.

Glancing over her shoulder, Emma laughed.

"Jesus Belle, you are the least intimidating person I know."

"C'mon, Emma. Something has happened. I know it."

With a sigh, Emma swung around, resting her back on the jukebox, just as Sting's smooth vocals filled the room. "We're.. trying."

"Trying?"

Emma's eyes dropped to the ground and Belle shuffled a little closer.

"I'm in love with him," Emma whispered.

"I goddamn knew it!" Belle cried, clenching her fists. "Does he know?"

"Yes… He loves me too."

And then Belle began to cry.

"Shit, Emma. That's-"

Before she could finish, Belle had pulled her friend into a suffocating hug. Emma held on tight, a sudden light feeling overcoming her. That was the first time she had said that out loud. That he loved her.

Damn it felt good.

"It's still new…" she explained, as Belle peeled herself away.

"All along, I'd hoped..." Belle began, wiping away a tear.

Emma grinned, "All along?"

"I knew you two were perfect for each other the first time I met Killian. He reminded me so much of you, but he was also different enough that you'd complement each other."

Emma nodded; Belle was right. They had so much in common, but their similar life experiences had shaped them in different ways. She was rash, impulsive… he was calm, measured. But they both had a temper. And both were stubborn at saying sorry.

"But then you didn't seem interested when you met him at my birthday party and I kinda gave up hope but then Killian had to find a way to stay, and-" Belle shrugged, a guilty expression.

"Wait," Emma said, her eyes narrowing, "Are you telling me you planned this all along? That this was all some elaborate ruse to get me together with Killian?"

"Not exactly," Belle giggled, "I mean, I'd hoped… And I really did want to help Killian, and you…"

Perhaps Emma should have been annoyed about her friend trying to interfere in her love life. But considering it was impossible to fall out with Belle and the fact that, in the end, she had been right about the potential between her and Kilian, it seemed in poor taste to chew her out.

"Well, don't be saying I told you so."

"My lips are sealed."

Emma drummed her fingers on the glass of the jukebox.

Quickly, Belle looked around. Killian was still not back. "So, what now?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are living together, technically married - don't think I haven't seen that ring on your finger-"

Emma blushed and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I don't know. I mean, we're taking it a day at a time."

"Do you want to still be married to him? And your apartment-"

Emma shrugged. See, they hadn't really talked through the finer details of what their updated relationship status meant. The past week had consisted of them just enjoying one another and really getting to know one another again, this time as real lovers, not fake newlyweds.

"I don't know yet. We're still feeling it out."

"But you want all that? I mean to really be married to him. To be together?"

The reply Emma gave her friend was an enigmatic smile.

/

Propped up against the bar, Killian let out a 'oomph' of air when he felt a hand crack against his back.

"Dickhead!"

"Scarlet," he coughed, tossing his friend a glare as he lined up beside him, waiting to get served.

"Buying me a drink? So kind."

"I've already bought you three pints, mate."

"But it's my engagement party."

"You know that excuse will start to wear thin soon."

"But not yet though," Will grinned.

The barman found that an opportune moment to come their way, "Two Heinekens and a rum and coke," Kilian said, before turning to his friend.

"See, was that hard?"

Killian withheld the urge to roll his eyes and instead fixed a smile on his face. "Congratulations, mate. In case I haven't said it enough tonight. Belle is an amazing woman."

"She is, isn't she?" Will replied, his expression turning almost dreamy as he gazed into the distance. "One in a million."

"Yeah," Killian nodded, "I'm amazed two gits like us managed to bag two such women."

Will froze, giving Killian a queer look as the barman slid two pints their way.

"Can you put it on my tab," Killian asked, as he picked up his pint and took a sip.

"Jones… Is there something you want to tell me?"

Killian grinned. Although he and Emma had agreed not to break the news to Belle and Will just yet, he couldn't resist. He had been bursting to talk about the events that had happened between them in the past several days and he just couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Are you telling me that you and Emma… Wait. You're a thing now? For real?"

With a quick nod, Killian thanked the bartender as he laid down Emma's rum.

"It's real. I mean, _we're_ real."

"Shit, Killian-"

Killian was taken by surprise by the bear-hug that engulfed him, slopping his pint over his hand and onto his jeans.

"You bugger," Will finally added, giving Killian a swift punch to the arm that spilled more of his beer on the floor. "How long has this been going on?"

"We talked things out after the interview. But I think I've been in love with her for much longer." Damn it was such a relief to say it out loud. Of course he had told Emma on a few occasions that he loved her since that day (he didn't want to overdo it, things were still new and Emma was still Emma. He didn't want to scare her).

"And?" Will urged.

"And?"

"What now? You're still married, mate. And living together. How are you gonna sort this out?"

With a shrug Killian shook his head. "Honestly, I'm not sure yet. We're still… figuring things out."

"But what do you want, then? If it was up to you."

Killian glanced at the rum on the countertop and then the gold band that sat on his finger. "I just want to be with her, Will. However she wants that to happen."

/

Emma was surprisingly nervous when they walked into the faculty Christmas party. It was a more casual affair than the formal dinner she had attended a couple of months earlier, but it was also so much more meaningful. It was, in a way, the first time they had really gone out as a couple. And unlike the last time she wasn't playing the part of the glowing newlywed. This time she was playing herself.

Killian's hand clasped hers tightly, giving it a squeeze of reassurance as they stepped into the hall that had been hired for the party. The room was busy, a bar having been set up along one way and a buffet at the other. The remaining space was taken up by a DJ booth, dance floor and large circular tables and chairs that had been arranged for each of the departments.

"You ready?" he asked, as they made their way towards their assigned seats.

"I guess," she replied, a nervous timbre.

Killian paused and and looked at her. "We don't have to be here Emma, if you're not comfortable-"  
"No," she insisted, placing a soft hand against his chest. "This is important. I mean, it's just a party but-" she shook her head, "I want to be part of your life for real. So this is a good place to start."

He beamed at her, pulling up her hand to place a quick kiss against her knuckles.

"I love you," he reminded her.  
"I know," she said, smiling and telling herself to let go of her fears. This was real. They were real.

They deposited their coats at the table and then moved to the bar to collect a couple of glasses of red wine before mingling amongst the other guests.

At first, Emma's smiles felt a little forced. She sure wasn't used to being the center of attention. Even the people she had met at the previous event gushed over her. She could tell how much they all liked Killian and how much they wanted to know about the woman who had taken him off the market. But slowly, she had relaxed, enjoying the genuine warmth that they showed her.

"Your colleagues are nice," she whispered to him after a particularly sweet greeting from part of the department's secretarial pool. The women had insisted she join them for brunch one weekend soon. With a little pressing, she had agreed, surprising herself when she realized she didn't hate the idea.

"Nah, they're all just a little meddlesome and could never quite understand why I was single."

Emma smiled into her wine glass as she drank the last drop, placing the empty vessel on the nearest table.

"Neither could I," she admitted.

"Really?"

She shrugged, "The thought did cross my mind when I met you. I mean, look at you."

"What could you mean?" he teased, wrapping his hand around her waist.

"You're gorgeous, Jones. And you know it."

He couldn't resist kissing her, even there in front of all those people - and knowing how private she was. She was smiling at him with such ease and she just looked so damn happy-

"Mmph," she squeaked in surprise as he pulled her close and gave her something a little steamier than the chaste kiss that may be appropriate in such a public place. He felt the want for her rise. It was pretty much constant now. He only had to think of her and a burning to have her came over him. He was trying not to overwhelm her with his desires, but on the several occasions where they had found themselves giving into each other she hadn't seemed to mind. Now neither of them were pretending anymore, there wasn't any need to hide it.

"Down boy," she murmured in his ear, pulling back from his lips with a sparkle in her eye which told him that this was to be continued.

" _Jones_."

The pair span around at the sound of his name.

It was Professor Gold. He stood in front of them, dressed in black and resting on a gold topped cane, giving them a flat smile.

"And your wife…"

"Emma," she finished, reaching out her hand. He took it in his. She noticed how cold his skin was, the kiss he placed on the back of her hand cold and clammy.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Jones. I'm only sorry I missed you at our last event."

She replaced her hand back onto Killian's shoulder. "I had been looking forward to that too. Killian has told me so much about you."

"Has he indeed," the older man hummed, giving Killian a quick once over. "Well, I wanted to take the chance to wish you a merry Christmas and to pass on some news to your husband."

"Oh?" Killian said, frowning. He had only spoken to Gold the afternoon before, during a planning meeting for the class schedules for the semester ahead.

"You must know I will be retiring at the end of this academic year." Emma quickly glanced at Killian, watching as he swallowed deeply. "Well, the committee to choose my replacement has been assembled and the process will begin in the new year and I wanted you to know first hand that you are top of the list that I have given them to be granted tenure."

"Are you- wait. Really?"

Killian was flabbergasted. He'd been pretty certain he would be shortlisted. But to know his name had been put forward by Gold and that he was his first candidate had completely thrown him. He'd always thought the old man had disliked him. Strongly.

"Yes, Professor Jones. I know talent when I see it, and I believe you are a good fit for Columbia as we continue into the next decade."

"I-" Kilian began, his hand quickly finding Emma's, "I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"No need to thank me. It's down to you now to show the committee you are worth the investment."

"I will," he nodded, still completely thrown by the turn in events.

"Anyway, I must be going back to my table, but Mrs Jones it's been a pleasure and I wish you both the best for the coming year."

After a quick shake of Killian's hand, the two were left alone in the thronging crowd that had gotten up to dance.

"I can't-" he began, shaking his head.

Emma swiftly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss. Not quite as passionate as earlier, instead more of a hopeful one. Her hands moved to cup his face as his slip around her back.

"I thought he hated me," he admitted as they pressed their foreheads together.

"Well you were wrong," she beamed.

He nudged her back towards their table where it was a little quieter. They sat, an amazed expression still across his face.

"It's been a hell of a year so far, hasn't it?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah, and by the looks of it, next year's going to be even more crazy."

They were quiet a moment, their hands finding each other beneath the table as her head rested on his shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're here," he said quietly.

She didn't ask him for clarification if he meant at the party or more than that. She knew what he meant.

"Yeah," she smiled, "Me too."

/

Christmas came and went, with it a series of parties and dinners and endless lunches that left Emma pretty sure that she would not need to eat again for at least a few weeks. Belle and Will had settled down from their endless commenting about her and Killian's relationship (and smugness about how they had engineered the whole thing). Work was crazily busy for them both- Christmas seemingly bringing out the stupidity in even more offenders who thought they could skip out on Emma and get away with it and Killian caught up in grading assignments and papers for almost all of his classes. It really wasn't until New Year's Eve that the two had a chance to really breathe and sit down, just the two of them.

"Wouldn't you rather be out celebrating?" Killian asked as he opened a bottle of French red to go with the steaks he had cooked them.

"God no," she sighed. "Don't you think Belle has dragged us to enough social events this month?"

"Aye," he nodded as he poured out a little and offered her a taste, "That's true. I just thought you might want to do something a little more exciting."

She gave him a warm smile. "Killian, this is great. Perfect." She gestured to the table he has set, complete with white linen, tall candles and gleaming dishes. "Really. You didn't have to do to all this trouble."

"Yes I did," he insisted, filling their glasses and then taking a seat opposite her.

She was about to argue back when she bit her tongue. She was learning. He had told her innumerable times over the past few weeks just how much she meant to him and, beyond that, how much he admired her as a person. She still didn't quite believe that she warranted any sort of special treatment.

"Fine," she sighed, "Thank you."

They ate leisurely, the tv softly playing the New Year's celebrations in the background. It was just after ten when they sat down to eat, slowly drinking the wine, talking about not much of anything until their dishes were clean and Emma groaned happily.

"You're a good cook," she admitted as he cleared the table.

"So I guess you're going to have me chained to this kitchen then going forward?" he teased, his expression only faltering when he saw the flash of panic cross her face.

Placing the dishes back on the table, he pulled his chair next to hers.

"I was only joking, love. I know we haven't talked about things much-"

She took a deep breath. She hadn't meant to scare him - but her mind was still hardwired to react to those kind of things. "I didn't mean-. I mean, I like living with you, Killian. It's weird because I'm so used to being on my own… but I do like this."

"Really?"

"Really."

He reached over, smoothing her hair with his hand. "I love having you here. I'd really like you to stay. I know it's fast…"

Emma chewed on her bottom lip as she sought the words to answer him with. This had been one of the questions that had played over in her mind during the past few weeks. Where should she live now? Were they just dating? Or something more… Since the interview things had been a little topsy turvy - she was back in his bed and spending most of her time with him, but she still had her place and her lease was up for renewal in a couple of months.

"Am I crazy if I say I want to stay too?" she admitted. "This is a far from conventional start to a relationship, so who says we have to follow some preordained set of rules about when we live together? I am your wife after all," she grinned.

He picked up her hand from the table, toying with the golden ring she still wore. "Yeah, you are, aren't you? So, even if you has said no to my proposition, I could have ordered you to…"

"Jerk," she laughed, swatting his hand away and crawling into his lap. "I did not promise to obey."

"That was an oversight," he hummed, leaning into her so their lips almost met. "About that. This marriage I mean…"

"This marriage," she echoed.

"What do we do?"

"Well, you know we need to keep this thing legal until your visa is processed…"

"And then?" he asked, expectantly holding his breath.

She cupped his face, staring into his blue eyes and seeing all the possibility that lay hidden in their depths.

"Then I guess we wait and see."

They melted into an embrace that saw the dishes forgotten as they tumbled into bed, slipping off their clothes and exploring one another, lost until the sound of fireworks alerted them to the time.

"It's midnight," she whispered into his lips, "Happy new year."

"Happy new year, Emma," he replied, wrapping his body tighter around her as he wondered just what the future would hold.

/

 _Five years later_

"Are you ready?" Belle asked, handing her the small bouquet of peonies.

"As I'll ever be," Emma smiled, her teeth chattering a little as the nerves finally hit.

She waited for the doors to be opened as Belle fussed with her skirt. Emma had said it was too much, this dress being full of flounces and so goddamn bridal - it wasn't like it was a real wedding, just a vow renewal. But Belle had silenced her with a look and Emma had handed over her credit card to purchase the long, elaborate gown. They both know this was a real as any wedding could be, even if legally it wasn't adding to the union between Killian and Emma.

A small, soft hand slipped into hers just as the doors creaked open. "Momma you look pretty," came a tiny voice.

"Doesn't she, Liam?" Belle cooed, looking down at her godson. "Hey, how about you hold my hand and then we can walk down the aisle together."

"Wanna hold momma's hand," he insisted.

Emma smiled at her son's words. He was three now. He'd grown so quickly and looked so much like his father, save for his mother's hair and eye colour.

Getting down on her haunches, struggling a little with the skirts of her dress, she looked him in the eye. "Papa and I have something very important to do. But If you promise to hold Belle's hand, you can sit on Uncle Will's lap when we go for dinner after."

"Uncle Will?" he asked, beaming.

"Yeah," she nodded, giving Belle a conspiratorial glance, "He needs the practice because he is going to be a papa real soon."

Belle smoothed her hands over her 8 month bump. "And I need someone to walk with me. Make sure I don't fall," Belle added, reaching out to him.

The small boy looked from woman to woman, finally letting go of his mother's hand and taking Belle's, just in time for the ceremony music to begin. After one quick, reassuring glance, Belle stepped into the ceremony room, taking small steps suitable for toddler sized legs.

Emma felt her own legs turn to jelly as she allowed herself to look at the end of the aisle. Killian was waiting, Will by his side, wearing a tailor made suit which somehow made him even more handsome than usual. She made her way towards him, mindful of the people who sat in the pews. They were the friends that she and Killian had made over the years; his colleagues, her new staff (she'd finally opened her own bail bonds business two years ago, pregnancy having put pause on that for a little while), some of the neighbours they had made when they'd moved to get a place with some outdoor space for Liam to play in. People who were all part of their lives now and they had chosen to share this special moment.

Technically, it was a renewal ceremony but Emma and Killian both new that this was real to them. As real as the moment he had dropped down to one knee in the middle of Central Park that spring and asked her to marry him. For real.  
He looked as nervous as her when she reached him. Liam had refused to honour their agreement and sit in Will's lap and was currently hugging his father's leg, much to the amusement of the Justice of the Peace. Killian seemed unaware of that his son was doing, instead he was staring at Emma as though he was seeing her for the first time.

"Hey," she whispered shyly, taking her place beside him.

"Hey," he echoed, one hand reaching for hers whilst the other found his son's mop of blond hair.

"You ready?" she asked, as the music died town.

"Aye love, I am," he smiled, the tenseness in his demeanour melting away as she looked at him.

And as much as the words were echoes of what they has said before, as much as they had been married over five years and had a son and a home together- it was these vows, and this moment, that Emma Swan would always say that she knew just how real and amazing being loved by Killian Jones was.

 **A/N: Reviews and feedback make my heart sing! I'm wanting to start another modern au idea very soon, so if you have any original ideas, please let me know :D**


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